


Darling (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

by circa1927



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, au!tom, hiddles - Freeform, tom hiddleston - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-16 23:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 111,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3506222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circa1927/pseuds/circa1927
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baby Darling has fallen from grace.  Once an award winning pop artist, she now finds herself stalked and hounded by paparazzi, surrounded by people who don’t have her best interests at heart.</p><p>The only thing she can think to do is run home.  And so she does, back to the small town where she grew up.  Not much has changed, except for the addition of a few new faces.</p><p>Tom isn’t fazed by Baby or her notorious reputation.  He keeps to himself, and likes it that way.  An outsider who has graciously decided to stay put, Tom revels in the routine, the simple moments in life.  When the two meet, it is like worlds colliding.  But perhaps they have more in common than first meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Author's Note

Time for a new story!  
This is my first time trying out an Au!Tom.  Tom that is NOT actor/famous Tom.  He's a "regular" dude.  So go easy on me, and give it a chance if you are so inclined.  As always, thanks for reading and responding and for being all over awesome.  
  
First chapter will be up as soon!


	2. 1: a mermaid, a run and a tiny herd of rhinoceros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thar she blows! Here's another Tom fic. This one is different for me. I'm scurred. Someone hold me. Here we go!!! P.S. Thanks for reading! Here, I made you a cookie!

Tom lifted up the thick pack of papers in the plain manila folder, looking them over but not quite reading the words. His lawyer had delivered them herself—two different packets, just last night. He’d been surprised when the headlights had illuminated his living room, as he didn’t often get visitors so late at night. Or visitors at all, really.

He’d stared at the papers, a mixture of emotions rolling through him. It was interesting how something so simple as a few papers and a couple signatures could mean so much. It was like relief, freedom, and the opportunity to finally close a door, end a chapter in his life that had gone on for too long. The signatures hadn’t been easy to acquire, and they’d been working on it for quite some time. It was over two years at this point. He swallowed hard, ran a hand through his unruly, sandy brown hair and then took a long swallow from his coffee mug. The coffee was hot and bitter on his tongue, but he savored the taste. It was early, but he felt his body start to wake up, itching to move and stretch.

The blue gray light from the misty morning filtered in through his kitchen window. The window was large, almost oversized in comparison to the tiny kitchen. The room was just barely big enough for the tiny island, stove top, a bit of counter space and a fridge that he was pretty sure was older than he was. It worked for him though. He enjoyed the simplicity. It was what he needed to stay sane. And the view out the front—the gray sky with the mossy green ocean, frothing and rolling just yards away. It was all worth it. He set his mug down, took one more glance at the stacks of papers, as if making sure he hadn’t imagined them, and then headed outside.

As he’d predicted, though it was overcast outside, it was surprisingly warm and muggy. His thin gray tshirt clung almost instantly to his chest, and he felt a fine sheen of sweat and ocean mist on his face, arms and legs as he began to run.

He had to admit it, he was a creature of habit. Every morning, rain or shine, he would leave his little bungalow around 6. He’d run down the beach, some days taking his time, enjoying the scenery, other days running hard and fast as if in a race only he knew about. Today he took a slower pace. He felt light and carefree, and it had been quite some time since he’d felt like that. Years, perhaps.

Once he ran the quarter mile, barely even feeling the exertion, he turned left off the beach and went down a sandy dune path, lined with tall mint green sea grass. A jog down the twisting path led him through a thatch of trees, all knotty, scraggly pine, and then to a clearing. The house there was only slightly bigger than his own, two stories instead of one.

He let himself in, barely out of breath, just starting to feel his muscles wake up. The house was quiet, as it usually was when he came over. If there was any noise, it was usually giggling or shuffling about upstairs. Normally he could keep quiet, go in through the side kitchen door and make coffee. Today, the house was silent and calm with sleep.

He put the pot on, making it strong like Rosie liked it, and then started to cut up some fruit that had been slowly ripening on the counter. He put most of it in a big bowl, and then he saved some of the smaller pieces for a small bowl, that was shaped like a cartoon character’s face. Some mornings he’d make parfaits with granola. Other mornings he’d get things ready for oatmeal. This morning, it was going to be blueberry pancakes. So he rinsed the blueberries, set them to the side, then checked the make sure the coffee was going.

When breakfast was set aside, ready for later, Tom let himself out of the house, undetected. He went back down the path, and onto the deserted beach. The fog from earlier was beginning to burn off, but just barely. It was only half six, and he knew it wouldn’t be until seven or eight before they might see the sun. He turned back down to the beach, set his pace and began the half mile run to his next destination.

Sooner than later, he came up to a beach house that sat nearly on the sand, like his own tiny bungalow. This house was the biggest on the long stretch of sand, with a wide, open deck and two stories. It was sided like all the other houses, in sea bleached wood shingles, and broad windows wherever there was room. He made his way up the path to the house, and took the staircase two at a time up to the back deck. Tom’s best friend, Sam and his wife, Rachel, almost exclusively used the back deck of their house like a front entrance. They parked their cars and stored bikes under the house, as it was raised up one level like most of the beach houses, in case of a bad hurricane or flooding, and entered through the large back deck.

As he made his way toward the wide sliding doors, ready to let himself in, he stopped abruptly, blinking rapidly. A mermaid was lying about a foot away, and he had barely been able to keep from tripping over her. Tom pulled his foot back, and then, when he got over the shock of seeing the figure at his feet, he realized it wasn’t a mermaid. He wasn’t insane, but the first glance had been deceiving.

Her hair was nearly white blond in the overcast light, strewn around her face in wispy, wavy knots. He couldn’t quite see her face, as it was covered by her long hair, and a slender arm, but he could tell she was young. She was wearing a gauzy white dress, and it was nearly translucent with misty ocean dew. Tom frowned, alarm and confusion setting in. Sam and Rachel were the only two people that lived here. Sam hadn’t told him he was expecting any visitors or company, and even if he had, it was rather alarming that they were sprawled across his deck.

Tom knelt down, his hands hovering over her arm, not sure if he should touch her. He could see the slow rise and fall of her chest, so he knew she was alive. The material of her dress clung to her small waist and her curvy hip, and he could see the swell of her breasts just under the thin cotton. He looked away, pushing surprising thoughts from his mind. He was about to try and wake her, when the sliding down scraped open.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Sam groaned, hands going to his hips. Tom looked up, eyes wide at his friend, and raised his hands in surrender. Sam Hunter was 35, married, and a bit of a musical hippy. He looked like he was 25, acted like he was a rather grumpy, belligerent 75, and knew how to play more instruments than Tom could name. He was also Tom’s closest friend.

“She was like this when I got here.” Tom stayed stooped over her, somewhat mesmerized by what he at first thought were features that belonged to a beautiful, mysterious and mystical creature.

“Fucking hell. Rach! Rachel! Come collect your kin!” Sam bellowed over his shoulder for his wife, and then stepped out onto the porch. He was dressed like Tom—in a tshirt and gym shorts, with his running shoes. Normally, Tom would just tap on the front door a few times to alert Sam he was there, and Sam would come out. They’d go for their two mile run down the beach, sometimes talking, sometimes just running in easy silence.

“Who is this?” Tom asked, his voice a low whisper. He looked down at her, noticing she was starting to stir.

“It’s Rachel’s little sister, Bee. Fuck’s sake. She was probably out here all night. I thought she was inside.” He rolled his eyes, but didn’t seem at all worried that she seemed to have slept on the deck all night. More annoyed than anything. Tom watched as she began to move, a soft moan coming from her small, but plump dusty rose lips.

“Are you kidding. Goddamnit.” Rachel came storming onto the deck in a whirl of similar white blond, nearly silver hair. Tom stood up as she walked over, giving Rachel some room. She kneeled down and grabbed her sister’s arms.

“Do you want some help?” Tom asked, watching as Rachel tried to move her. She began gently smacking her sister on the arms, shaking her gently.

“She’ll wake up. She smells like a damn bar. Was she one of yours last night?” Rachel raised an eyebrow at Tom, and it took him a moment to realize she meant a patron at the bar he worked at on week nights. He frowned and shook his head.

“Don’t recognize her.” He shook his head.

“I’m awake. Stop!” The voice that came from the small body at his feet surprised him. Though so far, everything about this woman had surprised him. Kathleen Turner channeling Jessica Rabbit immediately came to mind—balancing dangerously between pure sex and something low, soft and vulnerable.

He looked down to see Rachel’s hand prepared to smack, and two very blue, very bloodshot eyes looking up at him. He faltered slightly, having to remember that this was a real person and not an ethereal, unearthly being. She somehow still fit the bill.

“You do realize you passed out on my deck.” Rachel groaned, trying to sit her sister up.

“I didn’t pass out. I fell asleep. I know where I am, I’m not an idiot.” The younger woman groaned. “I locked myself out and I didn’t want to wake you guys up. It was nice out last night so I…just…stayed.” She rolled onto her side, in an attempt to sit up, but then winced and seemed to decide against it.

“Dammit, Bee.” Rachel murmured under her breath.

“Please, Rach.” She sighed, “Why am I all wet?” She ran her hands over her dress, and down over slim, rather willowy legs.

“It’s rained last night. And it’s been foggy all morning.” Tom piped in at the moment, not having taken his eyes off of her since he’d nearly trampled her. She looked up then, one eyes squinted closed, the other wavering open. He got a good look at her face, and felt a bit like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. She looked oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place her. He’d expected her to be pretty. If she was Rachel’s sister, she would have some of her genes—pretty in an unassuming way. But she was more than that. No wonder he’d mistaken her for a mermaid, she was beautiful—ethereal in a way. She was slender, with high cheek bones and freckles that dotted her cheeks and nose. Her skin, despite being a bit red and flushed from sleeping outside, was clear, and milky white. Her hair should have looked mismatched against her skin, the blond silver, but instead it made her look airy, delicate.   Her eyes stood out the most, grey blue and deckled with gold. Her full lips were the only other sign of color on her face at the moment, and they were currently drawn down in a frown.

“Who are you? And why is there three of you?” She moaned softly. Sam chuckled, shaking his head, while Rachel rolled her eyes.

“This is Tom. Tom, this is my little sister, Bee. Or Baby, as you may know her.” Rachel introduced them, and then suddenly, Tom knew why she looked familiar. Baby. Baby Darling. America’s Sweetheart, winner of both a Grammy and an Academy Award, Billboard Top 100 artist.

He blinked and then watched as Baby curled into a ball, rolled onto her side, and promptly threw up all over his trainers.

 

 ****

“I nearly trampled her when I walked onto the deck.” Tom said over his shoulder as he opened the door to his house. After being puked on, rather unceremoniously, Tom had removed his shoes and left them at Rachel and Sam’s at the insistence of Rachel. She said she would wash and dry them, while apologizing profusely. Tom had laughed it off, not really minding all that much. He wasn’t a stranger to gross bodily fluids and though he’d rather not have it all over his shoes, there were worse places he’d been barfed on, unfortunately.

“She’s sort of a wreck right now.” Sam stepped into the small hallway, and waited while Tom grabbed his spare pair of trainers and tugged them on. Besides the tiny kitchen, the rest of Tom’s house consisted of a decent sized family room, and a short hallway that led down to two small bedrooms and a shared bathroom. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was well kept and good enough for Tom. The real appeal with the view outside, anyway.

“I know Rachel has mentioned her little sister, but I never put two and two together.” Tom tied his shoes, trying to get the image of Baby’s eyes out of his head. Baby. What a ridiculous name for a full grown woman. And strangely, it just didn’t even fit her as a pop star or a celebrity. The woman he’d seen on the deck was anything but a child. More like a severely hungover adult regretting their decisions from the night before.

“Rach doesn’t like to discuss it. But Baby’s been having a rough time lately. You heard about the—“

“Wait, wait. Is her name really Baby?” Tom cut Sam off, incredulous at the idea. Sam laughed and shrugged helplessly.

“No. It’s not. But that’s what everyone calls her now. I usually call her Bee. It seems less…pornographic.” Sam shuttered and shook his head as if trying to shake out a terrible image. Tom shook his head as well, but for different reasons. Messy blond bed head, sleepy blue eyes…

He needed to get out more.

“What’s her real name then?” He asked after a beat, ushering Sam toward the door so they could run. Tom definitely needed his run. It was getting late though and he needed to be back at Rosie’s soon.

“Billie.” Sam said as they took off, breaking into an easy pace. Tom raised an eyebrow.

“Billie? That’s so much better than Baby.” He laughed softly. Sam agreed. The two men made their way down the beach, staying near the edge of the water where the sand was hard and compact.

“Who knows.” Sam shrugged. “Enough about little sis. And sorry about your shoes. Have you heard from Carol?” Sam reached over, knocking Tom in the arm as they moved along. Tom laughed and rolled his eyes. They picked up the pace a bit, and Tom felt the salty air rush cool through his hair.

“I have. She came over last night.”

“Oh? Good man.” Sam grinned.

“No. Not for that. That never happened.” Tom said with a chuckle. Sam frowned and groaned softly.

“You had that in the bag, dude!” Sam raised an eyebrow at Tom, who shook his head. It was somewhat true. Tom’s lawyer, Carol Reye, had definitely been interested in him. And it had been tempting. She was gorgeous—dark hair, green eyes, beautiful smile. But Tom hadn’t wanted to complicate things. Not when his situations was anything but simple. At least Carol had known about what he was going through—that was one good thing, and why Sam had urged Tom to take the opportunity. But it hadn’t felt right. And Tom knew that if he was going to get involved with someone, especially now, it had to feel right. He had to feel it in his gut, feel like it was his only mission in life. Perhaps that was a bit dramatic, but Tom felt a bit dramatic lately.

Carol was good looking and obviously smart, but she also worked constantly, told him once in passing that she didn’t like kids all that much, and had dreams of some day moving to a bigger city. He’d been smart enough, and not quite desperate enough (though it had been a long time), to keep their relationship strictly professional.

“I kept it professional. And…well, she came to deliver the divorce papers. And the guardian documents.” Tom felt his chest swell at the thought of the documents, waiting back at home. All perfectly signed, and ready to go.

“What?! Oh shit! Tom. Congratulations, man. Wow.” Sam nearly shouted, and then they both staggered back as Sam yanked Tom into a hug. Tom laughed, patting his friend on the back and hugging him tightly for a second. Though Tom had gone through this alone, Sam and Rachel had been there for him as much as they’d been able to. As much as Tom had let them. And the truth was, there had been a few long, depressing nights where he’d spent some time on their couch. Rachel was a good listening, and had a calming effect. Sam was eternally optimistic and made Tom laugh. He would be eternally thankful that he had them as friends.

“Thanks, mate.” Tom nodded. They stood still for a minute, both slightly out of breath from running.

“You hadn’t talked about it in awhile so I didn’t want to bring it up.” Sam was grinning so widely, Tom could see nearly all his teeth. It made him smile though, knowing how happy Sam was for him.

“Carol had things in the works. I didn’t want to jinx it. But she found Becca. I don’t think she was really hiding, but she’s hard to track down. And she signed the papers. All of them.” Tom felt something in his chest loosen, and he held his breath for a minute, looking out over Sam’s shoulder at the rushing waves, and the low hanging sun. Sam turned, looking out over the sea as well, and then smacked Tom on the shoulder.

“Congratulations, brother. Does this mean Gems is yours? No more worries?” Sam asked, his voice calmer and serious. He looked over at Tom, who was still holding his breath, eyes out to the sea. Tom could fell his eyes burn slightly, but he didn’t mind. Sam knew how much this meant to him, what it meant to want something so badly and be almost powerless to get it.

“Yes,” He replied softly. “Yes.” Tom he repeated, more to himself, smiling and looking down. He wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed to cry. Especially not in front of Sam, who wasn’t that sort of man. Sam was an artist—a musician, and would cry at the simplest Hallmark commercial, or the happiest surprises. But this had been a long, arduous, sometimes terrifying road for Tom. The past five years. And things were finally coming to a close.

“So we should probably celebrate soon, right? Cake? Balloons? The whole nine yards? Maybe a stripper or two? Five year olds like strippers, right?” Sam asked. Tom laughed, looked up and nodded.

“Ah, let’s nix the strippers. But, you know Gemma. She loves cake. And I don’t think she’s afraid of balloons anymore.” Tom grinned, and they started moving back into a run, going back the way they came. Sam’s laugh rang out, echoing over the sand and water as they made their way back toward the Hunter house.

 

 ****

Tom entered the house slowly, as quietly as possible, but he knew as soon as he opened the door, he’d been detected. There was a soft rumbling noise, as if a tiny herd of rhinoceros were barreling toward him, and then a flash of dark hair and bright colors grabbed around his legs. He braced himself, not wanting to trip over anything.

“Tommy!” The little girl’s voice rang out through the small kitchen, and Tom laughed and dropped onto his knees as if he’d been mortally wounded.

“Oooph! You’ve got me! You’ve got me.” He groaned, and staggered back, pulling Gemma into a hug. The little girl wrapped her arms around him, as far as she could and kissed his face.

“Mmm, you smell like ocean. Seaweed and gulls and fish.” She pushed her tiny face against the center of his chest, and breathed in. He laughed, knowing she meant it as a compliment. He squeezed her, and then stood up, taking her with him.

“I always smell like ocean. Either ocean or books, right?” Tom hoisted Gemma onto the kitchen counter, setting her down and standing next to her.

“Or dirty socks.” She laughed, her tiny voice shrill but somehow music to his ears. Tom growled at her, which made her laugh harder. She was the happiest child he knew, despite extenuating circumstances. And every time she laughed—this deep, soulful belly laugh that should have belonged to a much older person, it made his heart nearly burst with adoration.

“Too bad I was planning on making blueberry pancakes. Looks like I’ll be making nothing at all for some rude little girls.” He huffed in mock anger. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Gemma stared at him, trying to figure out if he was really mad or not.

"I'm not rude!" She huffed indignantly though she was smiling still, all tiny baby teeth. She knew him too well. Her dark hair was a swirl around her head, and she was still wearing rainbow colored pajamas. Her favorite rainbow pajamas, in fact, which were often the source of much heated debate. When it was time to wash them and wear proper clothes, she could put up quite the fight. She had good rationale too, or so he thought, for someone so young—‘What does it matter what I wear? If you still love me?’ and ‘Peter from school wore the same shirt all week and I’m still his friend because that’s what good friends do.’ He often didn’t have a rebuttal for those justifications.

Tom felt his heart tug in his chest, and he spun around, yelling loudly and sticking out his tongue.

Gemma shrieked and giggled, and Tom grabbed her off the counter and went tearing through the first level of the house, carrying her like a sack of potatoes.

He had just dumped her onto the couch, when a sharp tutting noise echoed behind them.

“Good thing I wasn’t still sleeping. You all sounded like a herd of elephants.” Rosie looked at the pair of them accusingly, but Tom just grinned. Rosie was nearly 74 years old, but she looked more like 65 and she acted like she was half that. Tom hadn’t been worried about waking her, because he knew she’d been up since just after he’d stopped by earlier that morning. It was her routine to wake up every morning around 6:30. She’d usually sit upstairs, in her bedroom nook, looking out over the beach and the ocean, sipping a mug of tea until it went cold. Gemma got up sometime after that, though lately she’d been sleeping in much later. Her recent growth spurts were making sleep a necessity.

“Good morning, Rosie.” Tom perched on the edge of the sofa arm, and then groaned loudly as the five year old behind him latched onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck, choking him slightly.

“Good morning, Tom.” Rosie looked at him sternly, though there was a gleam in her brown eyes. “Any good news, Tom?” She waited patiently, and Tom looked up at her. He could feel Gemma’s knobby knees digging into his spine, her tiny rather clammy hands wrapped unknowingly tight around his windpipe. He coughed softly, reached up and gently tugged on her hands to loosen her grip.

The adults in the room were quiet for a moment. Tom pressed his lips together, a smile edging it’s way across his face.

“Yes. Really good news.” He replied softly, suddenly finding it hard to talk for reasons that had nothing to do with the tiny person wrapped around his neck. “The best news, actually.” His eyes met Rosie’s as she gasped softly, her face softening and tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh sweetie.” She walked over and gently put her warm, papery hands against his cheeks. Tom smiled and then let out a surprised ‘Oof!’ as Gemma kneed him rather hard in the spleen.

He laughed, and then they were all off, ready to make breakfast in the small, cluttered kitchen.

Tom felt happier than he had in a long time. At peace, which was something very hard to come by. Surrounded by his family, even if it were a self appointed one. And to think, four years ago, he hadn’t known any of the people in the room.


	3. 2: her name, a small town, a sister with conviction

**2 Weeks Earlier**

I’m not sure what time it is. Last time I checked, it was 2 am and that was before there was a fight on the front lawn, a dozen naked people in the pool and a conga line around the main level of the house. Time is a blur. I do know that my house is packed and there’s no point in trying to kick people out. Every room seems full. Some people are passed out, and immobile, others are still partying like they’ve just started. They’re all celebrating. Celebrating what? I’m not really sure. But who am I to break up a good time? Even if it is my own house, and all I want is some goddamn peace and quiet.

I walk through the kitchen, sneering as I see every inch of the granite countertops covered in some sort of trash. Bottles. Cups. Food and spills of who knows what. Some half dressed woman is lying on the island while a guy takes a shot of something ice blue out of her cleavage. They stand up, inebriated, shouting at each other like they are fighting. I’m surprised to see them collide together a second later in what can only be described as a rather violent kiss. I roll my eyes and grab a half full bottle of vodka off the counter before walking past them. I think the woman’s name is Veronica. Or Monique. Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t even know half the people here.

I leave the kitchen, bottle in hand and make my way through the main living area.  The high ceilings aren’t much of a noise buffer, and loud music vibrates through the heart of the house.  The halls act as arteries, pumping sound to the other rooms. There’s no escaping it. It might be one of my songs, but it’s been mixed with something else, so I’m not sure.  I don’t really care.  I never envisioned my songs being blasted through house speakers, mixed to the point of being unrecognizable. It’s clips of my voice with some sort of drum and bass.  It’s not bad, but I’m sure it would sound better if I were currently more drunk or on drugs.

“Baby!! Baby!” Someone shouts _her_ name, _my_ name, and I turn my head though I don’t recognize the voice or the face it’s coming from.

“Hm?” I murmur, lifting the vodka bottle to my lips.  I take a sloppy swig from the bottle, not caring how I look. The vodka tastes like nothing, but I wince when it burns slightly as it goes down my throat into my empty stomach.  Shorty said I needed to lose 5 lbs for the Video Music Awards performance, and so it’s been all clear liquids and lean protein for quite a few days. Last night I had a dream about a chocolate bar. It was talking to me and crying, and it smelled amazing. And I felt so bad for it, but I was still certain I was going to eat it. Pretty trippy stuff.

“Hey Baby! Goddamn, your parties are always amazing.” My party. As if I had anything to do with this circus. The guy standing in front of me has bleached blond tips, and I think his entire outfit is made from acid washed jeans.  I blink. Have I stepped back into the early 2000’s? Am I time traveling now? He’s staring at me, waiting for me to reply.

“Thanks?” I blink.  I can’t say it’s really a compliment.

“You are fucking sexy.” He looks at me, his eyes wild and intense. He’s either high or drunk, or both. “Baby, I’ve seen your video, girl.  Let me join you next time—“

I push past him, groaning loudly as I do. He’s drunk enough that he stumbles back as I walk away.

“Gross.” I shake my head and turn away from him.  I hear him yell something at me, to the back of my head, and I keep walking. I feel my skin crawl knowing that people like him exist. And are in my house.

I get offers like that often.  At least a few times a day to my face.  And probably a few hundred times a day on the internet, not that I’ve checked lately. They talk about me like I’m not a person. Like I’m just a face and a collection of parts. There’s a dead look in their eye when they gaze at me, and then offer to ‘give me the ride of my life’. On the internet, the comments are even worse than that, if that’s possible. I stopped reading after some of them made me physically sick.

My manager, Shorty, told me I should stay off social media until things calmed down, so I literally threw my phone out the window of his moving SUV. It felt sort of freeing, and liberating, disconnecting to that whole world. Shorty started cursing, and then turned the car around to get the crushed phone. He said we didn’t want anything else leaking. What if someone found my phone?! As if I cared. The damage was already done. The next morning, there was a new phone waiting for me. All the numbers of people I don’t know already pre-programmed into it. I deleted the dozen or so social media apps off of it as soon as I could. If I had to have a phone, then it would only be used to make phonecalls. Strangely enough, people don’t like to call. That’s too personal. So that solved that problem. I cease to exist in this world if I’m not tweeting or texting to posting photos of my bare skin.

My career started out innocent enough.  I was discovered early, by music producer John "Shorty" Masters.  He promised he'd make me a star, and he was right about that.  At the time, I was the perfect combination—young, blond, and completely naive.  I was fresh from a small east coast town and my ignorance was about as deep and untouched as the Mariana Trench.  It was where the nickname "Baby" came from.  I was 16, but I looked 14.  They all said "Billie" was too old for me.  Though I'd always liked my name.  I was named after Billie Holiday, or so my sister told me.  But Shorty coined the name "Baby", and paired with my given last name "Darling", I was already a media sensation.  

Sadly, for the last few weeks I’ve felt my name, my career and my pride being drug through the mud and worse, the public opinion.

 

 ****

 

I walk through the house, trying not to bump into anyone. People talk to me and I don’t respond. I make my way up the large, curved staircase, toward my room. I hesitate at the big double doors that lead to my room, and then open them quickly, having to throw my shoulder against one of them as it sticks. There’s a flash of naked limbs, and I watch two people fumble in the semi-darkness. Whoops. Interrupted something.

“Get out.” I grumble, and two…three bodies rush past me in the dark. Fuck. Even my room is contaminated by these leeches. I turn on a lamp, and stare at my bed, which is still made up, but the pillows are knocked off and the comforter is askew. I roll my eyes, and go into the bathroom.

It’s a room big enough to be a small bedroom. There’s a huge soaking tub, a giant glass enclosed shower. The vanity table is big enough for three people to sit at, and there’s a soft, plush chaise lounge in the far corner. One of my platinum albums hangs framed over the toilet. How appropriate. I close the door behind me, lock it, and curl up in the chaise.

Silence. Nearly. I can feel the thump of the bass, but the noise is nearly gone. I pull my knees up to my chest, tucking the vodka bottle tightly in the space, and I hold my breath. Someone bangs on the bathroom door, but I ignore it. It doesn’t matter who it is. I don’t have any friends here.

I think back to my first trip to Los Angeles. It feels like forever ago and maybe it was. Nearly ten years ago.  Awards, albums, recording contracts later, and here I am.  Alone in a house full of people.  A stranger in my own home.  I feel as if I am a shell of myself. Am I Baby darling? Or is Billie still there? Somewhere? Under the makeup, and the bleached white teeth, and the smile that has gotten more and more fake as the people yelling my name has gotten louder and louder. I barely hear my own voice anymore.

I know I shouldn't complain. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? I asked for this.  To sing, and play music, and do it for a living—a damn good living too.  But I never knew the cost of it.  I never thought I'd lose myself to it.  And now, sometimes, when I'm singing "my" songs, I feel like my voice isn't even my own.  Baby Darling has taken over. Billie just wants to go home.  To her real home.  Where the ocean rolls in sea foam green and big white caps, endlessly rolling, always there.  Ceaseless motion.  Where the air smells clean like seaweed and gulls and fish, and not car exhaust and pollution.               

The last month has been anguish.  Hell.  My soul feels empty.  When I wake up in the mornings, I stare at the ceiling, feeling tears burn down the sides of my face.  I don't care about singing anymore.  I don't care about music. 

I care that people I trusted stabbed me in the back.  I care that my private moments were sent spiraling, brash and real through the harsh world.  I care that people say it's what I deserve, and what I should expect, being a pop star and all.  I care that I've let people I love down—made them ashamed to know me. I care that I am all alone, in a big expensive house, in a world that I no longer feel a part of.

So, I think it's time to go home.  I don't know if they'll accept me back there, but it's worth a try.  And if I can't be Billie Darling in Small Town, Delaware, then I will say goodbye to her once and for all, sell my soul and let Baby take over completely.

 

 ****

 

“Are you okay?” Rachel’s voice sounds far away.

“I don’t know.” I look down and can see my hands shaking. Maybe from all the drinking the past week, but I know it’s not normal. I also can’t quite remember the last time I slept. I think I slept last night, curled up in the chaise in the bathroom, but it was the weird inbetween sleep. The music from the party kept me from getting any real rest.

“You sound terrible, Bee.” Her voice softens and I instantly start crying. I can’t help it. It’s silent tears, but I can’t stop them.

“I feel terrible.”

“Okay, well come home then.” She says simply. I feel even worse. I know my older sister has been going through a lot. Not the kind of public drama I’ve had, but she’s had her own very real struggles. On the outside, her life seems pretty sterling. She’s got an excellent following as a local potter and artist—a job I know she absolutely thrives on. She’s married to Sam, who is probably the nicest, coolest person in the world. He’s laid back in a calming way, funny in a down to earth way, and quite possibly the easiest person to talk to in the world. He also cries as easily as I do, so we often have that in common. We cry at the same times. And they have a gorgeous, cozy little beach cottage which sadly, I haven’t been to in nearly six years. Too busy with my life ruining music career and all that jazz.

But I also know that Rach is 32. And she’s never had kids. And though it’s all she used to talk about, she doesn’t talk about it much anymore. Sam still does if you get him drunk enough, ever the optimist. I’ve never asked her the specifics, not wanting to pry. But as Rachel invites me so easily back to her home, without resentment or rancor, I suddenly feel a heaviness on my heart. I haven’t been there for her. I know I haven’t. I’ve been too absorbed in my own life.

And now she is, without hesitation, telling me I can come home.  It’s more her home now than my own, but my heart swells and I don’t know if ‘grateful’ even comes close to how I feel.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Don’t be dumb. We have the extra room you can stay in. I’ve been working night and day on a huge order, and Sam’s been swamped at the college, but I think the fresh air will do you good. There’s no cameras here either.” She pokes, but it’s gently, and I smile through my tears. She wouldn’t be my sister if she didn’t put salt on the wound, just a teensy bit.

“Thank you. You’ve no idea…” I fade off, my breath hitching in my throat.

“I worry about you, Bee. All the time. Even more so now...” Her voice is so gentle, and I feel my heart nearly give out with a desire to be there, on her couch, wrapped in a blanket and talking until all hours of the morning.

“I’m worried too, Rach. I’m just…lost.” I admit. I look around, at my trashed house. The party has been over for some time, but I haven’t bothered to clean up. Trash is everywhere, and it’s beginning to smell. My cleaning service, Sunnyside, is scheduled to come within the next day or so, and I have a feeling I am going to owe them my first born child.

“Alright, well come home and when you get here, we can fix things. And find your path again.” She says. Rachel always has a way of stating things so simply, it’s hard not to believe them. She says things with conviction. I would follow her blindly. I do follow her blindly. It may have something to do with losing both of our parents when we were young. She helped raise me, the best that she could, until music stole me away.

“I’ll catch the next flight.” I say, and for the first time in awhile, I feel hopeful.


	4. 3: Tenure, a dozen cat cookies, word vomit

“I’m pretty sure half this paper is plagiarized.” Tom groaned as he glanced at his watch, noticing it was nearing half past five. Times flies when you’re….grading grad papers on early 19th century literature. Wasn’t that the saying? Sam grunted from where he was standing, leaning against the door of Tom’s tiny office. More like a closet with a desk, computer and half a window.

“Run it through the Paper Watch program.   Are you almost ready to go? I’m gonna pull my hair out if I have to listen to one more half assed audition.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. His dark hair stuck out in clumpy curls, and Tom smiled, knowing Sam probably _was_ pulling out his hair.

“Yes. I’m ready. I’m losing it as well.” He stood up, stretching his legs and gathering his things. Thursdays were always tough. Thursdays were back to back classes all day, and the nearly 8 hours of lecturing was draining. Two of his classes were general credits, so the students enrolled weren’t always the most enthusiastic. There were times when getting a response, or any sort of answer, was more like pulling teeth.

“Are you heading over Rosie’s? Or do you want me to drop you off at your house?” Sam asked, waiting for Tom to finish packing up. Tom hummed softly, thinking of what he needed to do that night. He needed to do a lot more grading, but he could almost hear Gemma babbling away in the sunroom at Rosie’s, or begging him to color with her.  Lately, she refused to color anything but superhero coloring books, and she more often than not would only use the color red.  Her artwork usually turned out looking a bit like a massacre, but who was Tom to judge? He was an English professor, not an art critic.  She was going through her red phase.  All good artists did.

“Actually, can you drop me at Corner Shop? I need to get some sweets for Gems or she’ll riot. I can walk home from there.” Tom said, remembering he’d promised her the special cat shaped cookies from the tiny bakery about two blocks from the house.

Sam followed Tom out of the room as Tom threw his bag across his chest, and locked up the small office.

“I can wait for you, it’s not a problem.” Sam shrugged. They usually carpooled on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when they both worked similar long hours. It wasn’t a far drive, about 20 minutes from the houses.

They had met here, at the local college, a little less than four years ago. It was a small institution, which fed in from most of the state’s high schools. Sussex Community College consisted of quite a few campuses, spread through the state. Tom met Sam when he’d gotten the job at the Eastern campus. Tom worked in the English department, Sam in the Music department—two buildings that were mere steps away from each other. They had met one afternoon when Tom had stopped to listen to Sam playing guitar and harmonica on the campus grounds.

“I think I need the walk.” Tom said with a short laugh. Sam nodded, understanding. Sam was the same at Tom—the fresh air, the exertion, it was all good for clearing the mind. Tom had a lot on his mind, so he fit in a run or a walk whenever he could. Plus, the bakery was only a few minutes away from the house. He had a hunch that once he stopped by Rosie’s for dinner, and to drop off the cat cookies, he wouldn’t make it back to his house until after Gemma was tucked into bed. It usually happened that way, though that was how he liked it. He spent most of his free time at Rosie’s. Even when he was at home, alone in the quiet, he’d almost always give in. Tom would take the five minute trek down the beach and almost immediately end up in a pillow and couch cushion fort with Gemma.

“Are you at the bar tomorrow night?” Sam asked as they climbed into his jeep. He’d removed the side doors for the summer, and every time Tom got into it, it made him think of some teen summer movie. All they were missing were surfboards and girls in bikinis in the back.

“Yeah, but just for a bit. Paperwork and stuff.” He shrugged as Sam sped through the nearly deserted streets.

“You think you’ll have to stay there much longer?” Sam glanced at Tom, his dark hair ruffled in the wind. Tom took a deep breath, looking out as buildings, cars, lights, passed by in a blur. The air smelled so familiar—salty, clean and a bit sharp with the undercurrent that came with the bay. Tom had gotten used to it as the smell of home.

“Yes. I think so. Unless Sussex gives me tenure. Or I don’t know, I win the lottery.” Tom said with a soft laugh, shifting in his seat. Sam laughed along, but they both knew it was the truth. Being a community college, the pay wasn’t all that great. Sam had been given tenure about a year and a half ago, and that had been a huge deal. It didn’t happen often anymore, especially since it was cheaper and easier for the college just to keep hiring adjunct professors. Sam was the head of his department though, and was a vital part of their music program.

Tom thought of the bar where he worked whenever he could fit in a shift. Usually it was evenings, after he taught or on the weekends. It was one of the only bars in town, and was aptly named “The Bar.” He enjoyed it for the most part. It was a complete departure from his work at the college. He could relax a bit there, and he’d been able to get to know a lot of people in the town. Somehow, during some of the rougher months when he’d landed in Lewes, it had sort of kept him from becoming one of the regular patrons. If you were the bartender, it was often looked down upon to also be imbibing.

But would he rather be home? Of course. Working two jobs, in a desperate attempt to keep up with bills, could be stressful, and Tom felt that stress more now than ever. Especially now that Gemma was his. All of this was for her, and now it was official. He wouldn’t let her down.

“You should consider a bigger place, man. I know you could work in Baltimore, or maybe DC? They’re not that far from us. You’ve got…what is it? A double major from Cambridge?” Sam sighed and glanced at his friend, who was lost in his own thoughts.

“Hm.” Tom grunted softly. They’d had this conversation before. They both knew Tom’s mind and talents were somewhat wasted where he was now. He could be teaching at a huge university, he could be lecturing in big halls. Not that the community college wasn’t important, but he was somewhat overqualified for what they had to offer him. Gen Ed English credits, and one Honors 19th century literature class.

“I can’t leave, Sam. I can’t do that to Rosie. Or Gemma. Even if I took her with me. It wouldn’t be fair.” Tom answered softly, as they pulled around to the Corner Shop. It was a small place, just off the main drag.

Tom hadn’t told Sam that he _had_ applied for a job opening in Baltimore. Two in fact. One at Johns Hopkins, and one at Loyola—two prominent institutions that had a lot to offer. Hopkins had a standing invitation to him to come teach there, but he just hadn’t been able to commit to the move

“I know, man. I just wish I could help.” Sam looked at Tom, his brow furrowed.

“I’m doing fine. Don’t worry. Believe me. I’m on top of the world right now.” Tom grinned at Sam, which made him smile as well. They laughed, and Sam smacked Tom happily on the shoulder, dragging him into a hug.

“Right. You’ve got a point. Hey, let’s plan that party soon, alright? Rach wants to make Gemma a cake.” Sam exclaimed as Tom grabbed his things and got out of the jeep.

“Yup. Sounds good. Thanks for the ride.” Tom waved as Sam pulled away. Sam and Rachel were really great friends. They were part of the reason why Tom stayed. A support system was hard to find, but Tom had honestly lucked out the day he met Sam. They were like family to him, even in such a short amount of time. Four years, and Tom didn’t think there was a day that went by that he didn’t talk to one of them.

****

Tom smiled to himself as he made his way into the bakery. It was brightly lit inside, all pastel colors and white trim. He breathed in the scent of fresh baked goods, and felt a giddy, childish rush of happiness when he saw the display plate of the cat sugar cookies that Gemma adored.

“Evening, Tom.” The man behind the counter looked up, smiling. The shop was mostly deserted, though Tom noticed a woman near the back bakery case, and a couple perusing fresh baked bread. Pretty typical for a weekday night.

“Hi Robby. I’m here for the weekly fix. She’ll throw an absolute fit if I don’t bring some home tonight.” Tom leaned against the counter, watching as the older man started delicately pulling the cookies from the tray and placing them into a flat, pink polka dotted paper box.

“That one, she does rule with an iron fist!” Robby laughed as he arranged the cookies. “Do you want a half dozen? Or a dozen?” He looked up at Tom, a bushy gray eyebrow raised. Tom pressed his lips together and let out a sigh.

“Dozen.” He nodded. Robby nodded astutely, and finished packing up the cookies. There was quite a show which included baker’s parchment paper, to keep them from shifting around on the way home, and then a big, lavender fabric bow that got tied around the frilly box. Tom chatted with Robby, watching with delight as the treats were packed. He was pretty sure Gemma liked unwrapping the box as much as she liked eating the cookies.

“Alrighty, sir.” Robby set the box in a paper bag and slid it gently across the counter. Tom reached for his wallet, knowing that the cookies were an absolute frivolity that he couldn’t necessarily afford. But it was a tradition, and one he would happily continue.

“I’ve got that.” A voice from somewhere behind his shoulder said. Tom frowned, knowing that voice—that very distinct voice from somewhere between blurry reality and a hazy dream. He turned around, recognition hitting him as he moved. That voice didn’t belong in a pastel colored bakery. That voice belonged in the middle of the sea, among rushing, swelling waves. It should be enticing and luring sailors out to their ultimate, happy demise.

“Hi.” She stood behind Tom, looking slightly less like the mermaid he remembered and quite more like a healthy, not hungover, regular woman. Still, she had a sort of sea worn, world weary look to her. She was tiny like he remembered—her white silver head just barely making it to his shoulder. Her hair was in a thick, messy braid that was swung over her shoulder. She was dressed warmly in a hooded sweatshirt and cut off jean shorts, a few rips and holes in them for added effect.

“Hello.” Tom managed, momentarily speechless. He hadn’t expected to see her. In fact, he hadn’t been altogether sure she wasn’t just a figment of his imagination since he’d nearly tripped over her about four days ago.

She blinked at him, a small smile on her lips, her pale skin flushed from perhaps embarrassment, or maybe just from being wind blown.

“Billie, right?” Tom asked, finding his voice. She paused, looking unsure for a moment and then she laughed softly, tilting her head to the side. Her laugh was surprising to him—a bit like music in itself. Soft, unassuming, and strangely, not all that joyful.

“No one has called me that in awhile. I see you’ve been talking to my sister.” Billie set a bottle of water on the counter for Robby to ring up, along with a prepackaged baked good that Tom was almost certain was a cinnamon bun. She gave him a quick smile when she saw him looking at what she was getting.

“Actually, I was talking to your brother in law.” Tom took a step aside, momentarily forgetting that he wasn’t going to let her pay for the cat cookies.

“All this together, please.” Billie moved forward, leaning up against the counter. She smiled warmly at Robby, who happily added her things to the bill. “I love this bakery. I remember it from when I was little. It hasn’t changed.” She sighed softly. Tom wasn’t sure who she was talking to—if she was talking to him, Robby or no one at all. He stayed quiet, not able to keep his eyes off of her.

“That’ll be $36.25, miss.” Robby said with a smile. Billie nodded and quietly handed him a credit card she pulled from her shorts pocket.

“Oh, wait!” Tom stepped forward, holding out a hand. Billie turned quickly, holding a small delicate hand up and raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. He froze. She may be small, but she was fierce.

“Please. I threw up all over your shoes. It’s the least I can do.”

Tom tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help himself. “Thank you,” he gave in, nodding toward her and taking the paper bag from the counter. Billie scrunched her nose up slightly, smiling and then reached for her things.  They said goodbye to Robby, and started walking simultaneously toward the front door.

“See you again, soon, Tom. Say ‘hi’ to the missus for me.” Robby tipped an invisible hat at Tom.

“Will do, Robby.” Tom grinned.  “Are you heading home?” He asked, turning to Billie.

“I am. I walked.” She responded, slipping the water bottle into the big cross body bag she had slung over her shoulder and across her chest. 

“Me too.” He opened the door, holding it for her.  “Care to walk together?” Billie gave him a little smile and nodded, then led the way out the door.

“Thank you.” She said softly. They walked in silence for a few minutes, neither of them saying anything. Asking her if she’d like to walk home together had been an impulse of Tom’s, and he wasn’t totally sure why he’d said it. He didn’t know her. She’d thrown up on his shoes, and that was about all they had in common. It was nice of her to buy his cookies, but he wasn’t really sure what to say to her now. The last few years of his life had been spent staying afloat, and trying to keep things tied together. Suddenly, since his news the other day, things had changed. He hadn’t quite found his new rhythm.

“I have to admit…” Billie broke the silence, and Tom looked at her, glad for the conversation. “I have to say that I’m somewhat mortified by how we met. I may not be able to live down the embarrassment.” She said over her shoulder.  Tom walked in step with her, the evening weather warm and balmy.  The sun was setting, turning the sky a warm mix of colors.  He couldn’t help but notice the way her light hair picked up the color, turning it red and orange, her skin glowing under the same light.

“Do you ever have an embarrassing moment and like…days or weeks or even years later, you think back to it and you physically cringe? Like, your whole body reacts thinking about it?” She asked, her face lighting up as she spoke. Tom took a deep breath, letting out a sharp laugh.

“Yes. I know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, meeting you was sort of like that.” She laughed loudly then, her voice bouncing off the surrounding beach houses. Tom laughed as well, finding her voice infectious.

“That’s harsh.” He grinned, pressing a hand against his stomach as if he’d been mortally wounded. Billie giggled softly, a hand going up to her mouth as she did.

“No, I’m sorry…see, fuck! I’ve done it again.” She shook her head, and Tom watched as a slow, red blush creeped up the side of her neck and to her cheeks. It spread in delicate blotches across her fair skin, and Tom suddenly wondered how far down below the neckline of her hoodie the red flush went. He looked away, quickly, clearing his throat.

“It’s okay, I know what you meant. And please, stop worrying. We’ve all…had nights like that.  It’s just a good story, at this point.” He shrugged. They walked at a leisurely pace, Tom deliberately slowing his pace to match her smaller strides. Billie didn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry. 

“You frightened me, actually.  I had no idea who you were, or what happened when I first walked onto the deck.” He chuckled, stealing a glance at her. 

She was looking down at the wrapped pastry in her hand, a small smile sliding onto her lips as she started to peel away the paper.  After a second, she pulled off a piece and put it in her mouth, sucking gently at her fingertips.  Tom watched Billie close her eyes for a brief second, looking as if she’d never tasted anything so sweet, and then quickly, the moment was over.

“I’m sorry.  I wasn’t in a great mind set the night before.” Billie tilted her head, looking over at him.  Tom watched her, somewhat mesmerized.  He’d met a lot of women.  He’d seen a lot of beautiful women.  But there was something about her—something that was different.  He looked away, quickly, feeling something harsh and sharp fill and nearly burst somewhere deep in his chest.  A warning, perhaps.

“How did you feel that morning?” He asked, trying to lighten the mood, more for himself than her.  Billie smiled and shrugged.

“Like I’d slept on a deck in the rain all night, after drinking way too much liquor.” She laughed then, and Tom felt his jaw clench, without meaning to.  His physical reaction to her—after hearing the smoky way her voice filtered through the air—it was something he could barely control.

“Ah,” he managed, nodding.  Billie held out her pastry to him, offering him a bite.  He looked at it for a second, recognizing the metaphor, and then shook his head. 

They walked away from the street, and made the slow walk down over the dunes toward the beach.  Neither of them had suggested going this way, but it had felt natural—the pull toward the sea.  Tom stopped at the top of the dune, reaching down and pulling off his shoes.  Billie was wearing strappy flip flops, and she kicked them off and tucked them into her back pocket.

“Do you…” She started but then stopped, shaking her head as if she could shake away what she’d said.  Tom frowned, and then smiled.

“Do I what?” He urged her on.  The beach was nearly deserted, though it wasn’t that late.  But it was dinner time, and most families and vacationers were tired from a day in the sun.  Although it was summer, and the peak time for tourists in town, Tom had barely even noticed the change in crowds.  The influx of visitors, and traffic on the streets.  He’d been too busy lately with his summer classes, and keeping up with Carol and all the legal business.  He had noticed The Bar had been busier, but not by much.

“It’s silly, really. But do you think we could start over? I don’t like starting out…meeting someone by completely mortifying myself, and disgusting them.  I know you’re Sam’s best friend, so I suppose I’ll be seeing you around a lot.” She pulled a piece of her cinnamon bun off, popping it into her mouth.  She turned to him then, waiting quietly as her blue eyes searched his.

Tom stopped as well.  She was interesting, he’d give her that.  A strange mix between this easy, carefree innocence, and then something else he couldn’t put his finger on.  An anxiousness? A worry… Something lurking under her eyes when she looked at him.

“I suppose we will be seeing each other around.” He replied gently. “And if only so when you think of me, you don’t have to cringe…” He teased. Billie smiled and he could see in the way she was shifting weight on her feet and digging her toes in the sand, that she was anxious. 

“My name’s Tom.  It’s nice to meet you.” He turned, facing her and held out a hand.  She looked at him, as if trying to gauge whether he was being sincere or not.  After a split second, she smiled, and then slipped her smaller hand into his.  Her hand was warm, solid and to Tom, it felt a bit like a memory, a dream, and something intangible, all rolled into one. He was glad when she spoke, as it pulled him back to earth.

“Thank you.  I’m Billie. It’s nice to meet you.  In such a civilized and non-vomity way.” She scoffed softly.

“Nice to meet you too, Billie.” He nodded.

They turned then, and kept walking down the beach. Tom could almost make out his house, though he was planning on stopping by Rosie’s and then walking Billie home if she wanted the company. Billie finished her cinnamon bun, tucking the paper wrapped into the pocket of her shorts. They walked in silence for a moment, before Tom motioned up toward the small, well kept bungalow behind the dunes.

“That’s me, up there.” He tilted his head. Billie followed his movement, and smiled as she saw his house.

“I love that house. It’s so tiny and charming. That used to be the Miller’s house. They moved to a big house up on the golf course.” She rolled her eyes.

“Not big on golf?” Tom asked.

“Why move to a golf course when you’ve got this beautiful beach?” She held out her hands for a second and then shrugged. They kept walking, passing the dune crossing that would have gone up to Tom’s.

“Don’t you…need to go home?” Billie frowned. “Your wife isn’t waiting?”

Tom paused, his eyebrows raised.

“I have to stop by Rosie’s, which is the next house down.” He shook his head.

“I love Rosie! She’s lived in that house for ages.” Billie turned then, and they kept walking. “So, your wife won’t be upset about waiting for those cat cookies, then?” She glanced over at him. Tom noticed the way she pulled her lower lip—slightly fuller than her top lip, into her mouth and between her teeth. He swallowed.

“Well, I suppose not. I’d have to have a wife for her to miss these cookies.” He grinned. Billie pressed her lips together, hard, and then groaned.

“Sorry. I just…heard Robby mention a lady…” She shook her head, looking embarrassed again. Tom shook her head, his hand reaching out and taking her gently by the forearm. It was instinctual, he hadn’t thought to do it, but it had happened.

“It’s fine. These are for a lady, indeed. But she’s five.” He shrugged helplessly. Billie broke into a grin then, one that lit up her whole face, and made Tom smile just for seeing it. She looked young, helplessly so. And perhaps happy for the first real time since he’d met her.

“Well, then. What a gentleman.” She blushed. Good lord, she blushed. And not from embarrassment, for once. Tom looked away, and they kept walking. They were almost to Rosie’s house, when he broke the silence.

“I have to admit,” Tom paused, not sure if he should actually admit what he was about to say.  Something about her though—the quiet, patient way she looked at him, made him want to tell her. 

“Hmm?” Billie smiled, her teeth white against the sunset sky colors on her face.

“I asked Sam about you.” He looked up at her as he tilted his head down, feeling strangely nervous.  Not in an anxious way, but almost in an excited way.  He talked to, and met, new people quite often—between both of his jobs, but they rarely ever spiked his interest quite like she had.

“Did you?”

“I did.  I was intrigued, I’ll admit.  And perhaps a bit worried.” He laughed and followed Billie as she started walking closer to where the water was breaking.  The waves were small that evening, despite it being high tide.

“I’m sorry.  I don’t know what I was thinking that night.” She said sincerely, but then looked away, out to the horizon.  Tom had a feeling that she knew exactly what she’d been thinking.  She’d been thinking that she would get completely wasted, forget her troubles, and then decide a deck was a good enough place to sleep.  He’d been there before.  And it wasn’t an entirely good place to be.  Good thoughts weren’t usually what were occupying your mind at a time like that.

“I don’t mean to pry.” He shrugged, and watched as Billie did a quick little dance, narrowly avoided a wave as it broke and rushed toward their feet. 

“I would pry too.  If I found a passed out woman on my friend’s deck.” She glanced at him, and then stopped abruptly and turned toward him.  Tom stopped walking as well, surprised. He could see the path to Rosie’s house just over her shoulder. A tiny bit of her roof, peaking out through a clearing in the trees, as if keeping an eye on them. Billie licked her lips, looking to the side for a moment but then back at Tom.

“I’ve had a really shitty month.  I don’t know you, Tom, but you seem honest…and real.” She stared at him, as if waiting for him to challenge her. He didn’t. “Rachel always tells me I’m an oversharer—word vomit, if you will. She says I need to stop. And honestly, oversharing is what has gotten me in trouble lately… But I just feel like telling someone. If I don’t tell someone, I might burst and for some reason I really feel like telling you.” She took a deep breath, waiting.

Tom blinked. He pulled his shoulders up and then nodded, urging her on.

“I made some stupid decisions. Some really hurtful decisions. And I can tell by the way you…you look at me, and the way you speak to me, that you’ve no idea what they are.” She flushed then. Tom frowned, confused. He knew that Billie was famous. Rather famous. But to be honest, he’d been living under a rock for the past few years. His life had consisted of work, Gemma, and bits of sleep when he could find it.

“I suppose you’re right.” He said, his voice barely audible above the waves.

“It’s nice, to have someone look at you, and not think you’re a terrible person.” She whispered. Tom frowned, his brow furrowing as Billie took a deep breath.

“Anyway, so I’ve run away from them.  From the consequences of what I’ve done.  And that’s why I’m here.  Why I’m sleeping in my sister’s spare room, and puttering around the town I grew up in.  I can’t face what I’ve become.” Tom watched as Billie spoke, her face a series of emotions as she did.  She spoke loudly, passionately, and he could almost feel the energy radiating off of her.  What she was saying wasn’t very positive, but there was an energy about her that was intoxicating.

“Well.” He managed, and taken aback but not turned off by her sudden confession.

“Thank you for listening. I suspect this will be another moment I look back and cringe on.” She said breathlessly. Tom leaned forward.

“Are you going to tell me what you did that was so terrible?” He asked.

“No. No. I think it’s best if you don’t know. I like how friendly your eyes are. It’s been awhile since I saw eyes that friendly.” She whispered softly, seeming slightly deflated. Tom felt a tug in his chest, the sharpness from earlier changing. He didn’t know this woman’s story, and it seemed everyone else did. But he did know she was interesting, and she’d caught his attention. He felt a strange protectiveness of her.

“Do you want to come up and say Hi to Rosie? Stay for a cuppa?” He asked softly, his eyes meeting hers. Billie looked surprised for a moment, and then her face broke into a small smile.

“Yes. Sure.” She nodded. Tom tucked his hands into his pockets, the bag of cookies hanging off his wrist, and he turned and followed Billie up toward Rosie’s house. Just as they reached the pathway, down through the patch of trees, Billie turned to him and smiled.

“You’ve got a story too. I can tell, with that accent of yours. You’re more than meets the eyes. When are you going to spill the beans?” She looked at him, as if they were two thieves, in it together. Tom shook his head, looking down to hide a brief smile. He felt the sharp stab in his chest, and then his stomach rolled slightly.

“I’m not quite as good at the word vomit as you are, Billie.”

“Ah, but vomit is what got us here in the first place!” She grinned and then turned back toward the path.


	5. 4: an Oscar, a family dinner, a full moon confession

Four days ago, I was chewed out by my furious sister for passing out on her deck. I don’t really blame her. But the whole time she was ranting and raving, I was lying on her couch, a bag of frozen peas on my pounding head trying hard to hide my smile. It had been a long time since she yelled at me. A long time since she went off on a tangent about my life choices. It felt nice, to be honest.

“Are you listening? BILLIE?” Rachel screeched, stomping over from where she had been standing in the kitchen.

“I am.” I nodded, closed my eyes and tried to stop the hammers in my skull.

“What were you even _doing_?” She’d asked, sitting down heavily across from me. I opened one eye, happy to see the room had stopped vibrating. She was not happy about my impromptu camping trip.

“Mostly vodka. Lower in calories. But tequila was there as well.” I sighed and pulled the half melted peas off my head, and gave her a meaningful look. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean for it to happen. I know it’s not cool, and not what I came here to do.” I apologized, and could practically feel her blood pressure go down. She sagged forward a bit, the anger drained from her.

“It’s okay, Bee. I know you’re stressed, and rightfully so. Just don’t be an idiot.” She said gently, then leaned forward and patted my bare leg. I had changed from my sundress into cotton shorts and a tshirt, not before taking a long, hot shower. I’d started shivering almost immediately after I’d come in from the deck.

“I won’t. One time thing, I promise.” Iwatched as my older sister, by 6 years, gave me a wary look. She knew me too well.

“Well, you nearly gave Tom a heart attack.” She’d laughed, then stood up and made her way to the kitchen where she’d been getting things ready for tea. I sat up, groaned and then fell back onto the couch as my head felt it had swollen to the size of a watermelon.

“Tom? _That_ was Tom?”

“Yes, I told you. I introduced you.”

“I was only partially coherent, sis.” I grumbled, then raised an eyebrow at her. The name was familiar. I’d heard him mentioned before, though he was a relatively new friend of Sam’s. ‘Sam’s going to Atlantic City for the weekend with Tom and the guys.’ ‘Sam’s coworker friend, Tom.’ ‘Tom’s coming over for dinner.’

I’ve known Sam nearly my whole life. He’s always just been around, following my sister around like a lost puppy. I used to sneak out to go to their bonfires, wanting desperately to hang out with the older kids. Knowing all of Sam and Rachel’s cool friends was a hobby of mine, born out of curiosity and a longing to be accepted. But an 11 year old isn’t quite welcome with a bunch of 17 year olds. So I’d stay by the dunes, out of sight, watching them drink and smoke weed on the beach. I’d soak in the sounds of the ocean night and of crappy acoustic guitars. It was a surprisingly perfect way to spend my young teen years, and the source of some of my fonder memories. Actually, it was probably the source of some of my only good memories as a kid.

Nowadays, I try my best to keep up with Rach and Sam. Mentions of this new friend, Tom, started a few years ago but I haven’t been back home in quite some time, so I’d only heard of him in passing. Over the years, Rachel had made him sound so boring and normal, that I had pictured some mid-thirties, slightly pudgy guy in a polo shirt and cargo shorts. Instead…I had found…well, not that at all.

I had opened my eyes, my mouth tasted like something very angry and sick had died in it, and my whole body felt like one giant bruise. I was just a ball of pain. And then, there he had been. All blue eyes—concerned and honest, and sandy brown hair—neat on the sides, and longer and floofy on top. The sort of hair you want to run your fingers through, press your face to and kiss. Plus, he was a bit ocean wind blown, a slight curl happening at the top, his clear skin slightly ruddy with the weather. Even in my hungover state, I’d been able to focus in on him. It would have been impossible not to.

After spending the afternoon and evening on the couch, I started to feel better. I thought about him a few more times. Mostly about the intriguing notion of passing out on your sister’s deck and being ‘rescued’ by the equivalent of someone that looked like a Disney Prince.

I’d come to the conclusion that coming home was the right choice. And then I’d promptly forgotten about him.

That was, until I took my walk this evening. I don’t have much to do these days. I help Rachel and Sam by cleaning as much as I can, without getting in the way. I take a lot of walks. Solitude is not something that is always in abundance in the world I normally inhabit. Here, it is everywhere, and it is lovely. Crashing waves as an every day soundtrack is far better than the noise and chatter of Los Angeles.

Then, upon coming across bakery heaven, I also came across that voice. It’s not just the fact that he’s British. That would be too easy. There’s a tone, a timbre to his voice that hit me, somewhere in my chest, and sort of seemed to take root. Shorty, my manager, always tells me I have the best ear in the business. I suppose it’s helped me get as far as I have. But something about Tom’s voice is like a chord—that chord you’ve been looking for to complete a song. I woke up to that voice on the deck four days ago, and then I heard it again in the bakery. Like the ending to a song that I’d been singing in my head, over and over.

Is that cheesy? Perhaps it’s the cinnamon bun that’s gone to my head. I can’t exactly remember the last time I had one of them. I know I just just waxed on poetically about Tom’s voice, but when he was talking to me while I ate it, it took everything in me to focus on what he was saying and not just flop longingly into the sand, moaning about carbs.

So now, here I am. Following this man—this near stranger, into the home of a woman I haven’t seen since I was 15 or 16. I hang back for a second, watching as Tom takes longs strides up the pathway toward Rosie’s house. Has it really been ten years since I was last here? Last on this stretch of beach, last in this tiny town, last walking up to Rosie’s adorable little cottage. I knew her niece, Becca, in high school. We hadn’t been great friends, but more friends out of convenience.  She lived close by, and we ran in the same circles.  Everyone in this town runs in the same circles. Aunt Rosie was always known as more of the town mom.  She was sweet to a fault, helpful to everyone she met, and went out of her way to make you feel welcome. 

How exactly, does Tom know Rosie? And seem to know her relatively well. Well enough to be delivering a dozen cat shaped cookies to her—and someone very young that lives with her. I meant what I said about starting fresh. I don’t know him, and I doubt I will get to know him all that much better, but I’ve come home to Lewes to clear my head and get myself together. Puking on a stranger is not a good way to start that.

“Are you hungry? Rosie’s probably made dinner.” Tom stops just outside the porch to her house, turning back and looking at me. He waits for a second, and then turns and takes the stairs two at a time. At the top of the short staircase, he stands looming over me like some sort of tall, golden British demi God. If his voice hadn’t been enough to get my attention, it probably would have been his rather long, strong looking legs. Runner’s legs.

“I don’t want to impose.” I blink, bringing myself back to the real world—where people answer questions in a normal amount of time, and not after a stunted length of time because you’re too busy ogling strangers. He smiles at me, and it’s broad and open, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Oh, to feel that way again.

A thought flits through my mind, clouding my vision. What if Rosie knows? She most likely does. Nothing stays a secret in this town. Not for long. A rumor can spread like wildfire. It seems as if Tom is, perhaps, the only person in the world that doesn’t know about me—about what I’m running from. What if Rosie takes one look at me and banishes me from her house? I start to feel embarrassed and panicked, and it hasn’t even happened.

“Maybe I should—“ I start to step back, not sure that I should be here, but I’m suddenly interrupted by the front door swinging open.

“Tommy!” The voice is high, excited and belongs to a little girl.  She comes barreling out of the open door, running at full speed toward Tom. Her dark, curly hair flies behind her, and her eyes are so big they look as if they shouldn’t fit on her face.  She squeals at the sight of him, and then rushes forward.

“Little rhino girl.” He laughs and squats down, obviously used to this sort of welcome. Though she can’t weigh more than 45 pounds, she nearly knocks him over with the force of her embrace.

“Did you get them? I’ve been so good. Rosie said I was an angel.” She says in a sing songy voice and then turns, suddenly realizing she’s being watched.  Tom follows her gaze, and I swiftly have one pair of ocean blue eyes, and one pair of chocolate brown eyes focused entirely on me. 

I’ve stood in front of crowds of thousands before.  This feels more intimidating somehow.

“A girl,” She says breathlessly, intrigued. “Hi.” She smiles, not shy at all. There is something endearing about being called a “girl” but someone twentysome years younger than you.

“Hello.” I say softly, taking a step forward and smiling.

“Gems, this is Billie.  You know Rachel and Sam? Billie is Rachel’s sister.” Tom leans forward onto his knees, looking at the little girl.  “Billie, this is my little lady.  Gemma.” He looks at me, his eyes scanning my face. I’m not quite sure how to react, because I’m still a bit confused. He looks back at Gemma and then flashes the most brilliant, lovely smile I think I have ever seen.

Gemma takes one look at Tom, and then a side glance at me, and then promptly starts giggling. It’s a giggle that seems to start in her belly, then moves upward, making her shake as she covers her mouth with two small hands. I notice chipped purple polish on some of her tiny fingernails.

“What?” Tom grins at her, trying to look stern.  Gemma shakes her head, looks back at me and starts to giggle harder.  It’s infectious, and I have to hold in a laugh myself, even though I’ve a feeling I’m the butt of this joke.

“Gems, what’s so funny, silly girl?” Tom reaches forward and scoops her up, standing up to his full height.

“Tommy,” She looks at him, one dark eyebrow raised as if scolding him. His eyes widen, urging her on.  She huffs as if she’s annoyed we aren’t in on the joke. “That’s not her name!” She pushes her face into Tom’s chest, suddenly overcome with bashfulness.  After a second, Gemma leans up, talking in a loud, hushed voice.

“Her name is Baby. Not Billie!” Gemma laughs, and looks at me as if challenging me to tell her she’s wrong.  I smile and make my way up the short staircase to where they were standing.  I catch Tom make a small “Ah” noise, and he gives me a slightly worried glance.  So, this little girl knows who I am, even if he doesn’t. Not really. 

“Has Rosie been letting you watch telly, Gemma?” He raises an eyebrow, but Gemma just shrugs.

“I’ve seen her on the tv.  She sings songs. One time she was wearing a bikini and she was surfing.” Gemma whispers loudly, her brown eyes glancing at me every now and again as if not sure if I’m real or not.

“That’s one of my music videos.” I say, stepping forward.  Gemma grins at me, her cheeks chubby and full.  “It was actually a commercial for a clothing company.” I look at Tom, shrugging.  He’s silent for a minute, his focus on me before Gemma starts wiggling to be let down.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gemma. You can call me Baby or Billie. It’s up to you.” I reach forward, holding out my hand. Gemma eyes it for a second, but then slaps her smaller hand against mine, giving me half a handshake, half a high five.

“Nice to meet you.” She wrinkles her nose, still trying to make sense of me. She then turns to Tom, smiling.

“Can we eat the cats, Tom? Aunt Rosie said I’m an angel with wings.” She asks with the attention span of a five year old. Gemma looks up at him, towering over her, and I swear I can practically see the way this little girl has him wrapped around his finger. 

I watch them—the interaction between them, feeling somewhat confused.  She’s obviously very comfortable with him, and he with her.  But he’s not…her father. She lives with Rosie and calls him Tom.  Perhaps just good family friends?

I suddenly wonder how hard it will be to get him to indulge in a bit of word vomit, my curiosity getting the best of me.  

 ****

Rosie doesn’t ban from her house. She doesn’t even bat an eye when she sees me. She’s exactly as I remember, if not aged just slightly.

After a bit of back and forth, she talks me into staying for dinner. She’s made roast chicken and vegetables, and my stomach rumbles at the thought. One cannot live on cinnamon buns alone. I think.

“This is so delicious, Rosie.” I sigh softly, looking down at my nearly empty plate.

“Well eat more, Billie! Or do you prefer Baby?” Rosie hesitates, looking up as she begins scooping more roasted carrots and potatoes on my plate. Tom, who is sitting to my right at the circular table, turns his head and looks at me, interested in the answer.

“Um. Billie. Please.” I nod after a minute. “Thank you.”

“Where did Baby come from?” He pipes in. Gemma is sitting across from me and I can see her slowly, methodically moving pieces of macaroni from one side of her plate to the other, lost in some child’s game.

“My manager, Shorty. I met him in the beginning—I was young, and I guess it just made sense.” I stop Rosie from putting anymore food on my plate, as I can already feel I’ve gained a few pounds since the short time I’ve been back.

“Oh?” Tom replied, the noise noncommittal. I can tell he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. He’s holding back.

“What?” I ask with a smile, tilting my head in his direction.

“Nothing, it’s just that Billie is such a great name. And it fits you. All the great Billies—Billie Holiday…” He trails off, then we all laugh. “Ok, well one great Billie. But she was a _great_ one.” He smiles at me, and I smile back, shrugging my shoulders.

“It’s nice to see you home, honey. I saw you at the Oscars two years ago. I was shouting at the television! How amazing was that?” Rosie asks, her eyes bright. I take a deep breath, remembering that night. It was a bit of a whirlwind. Shorty had come as my date, a platonic one of course, and he’d made sure I schmoozed and rubbed elbows with as many people as possible.

“You’ve been to the Oscars?” Tom asks, surprised.

“She’s won an Oscar!” Rosie exclaims, and then claps her hands. I laugh and shake my head, feeling Tom’s eyes still on me.

“I won Best Original Song.” I turn to look at him, and I’m caught a bit off guard by the look on his face. It’s as if he’s trying to read me. Like I have words in a foreign language written all over my skin, and he wants badly to decipher them.

“That’s fantastic.” He nods and then takes a drink from his beer. I do the same, and the table is quiet for a moment.

“The real question is…where do you keep it?” He sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his broad chest. I can see the movement of his muscles under his white button up, and I force myself to look away.

“In the bathroom, of course.” I smile at Rosie, who laughs.

“What’s in the bathroom?” Gemma asks, deciding to join in. Gemma sits up a little straighter, reaching forward for her cup of milk. She gulps down whatever is there, noisily as if she hasn’t had something to drink in days.

“An important award she won. It’s name is Oscar.” Tom looks at me, and winks casually.

“Oscar!” Gemma exclaims, giggling.

“That’s his name.” I smile.

“You keep him in the bathroom!? In the tub or the sink or the…toilet?!” She gasps, taking a deep breath.

“On a shelf. But maybe the tub would be a better place.” I smile at her and she grins, shaking her head.

“Speaking of tubs…” Tom scoots his chair back. “Gems, it’s bath time.” He stands and starts clearing his plate and Gemma’s, as Gemma starts scrambling around the table and her chair, obviously excited.

“Bubbles!” She shrieks.

“Small bubbles, Gemma. Not big ones.” Rosie raises an eyebrow at Gemma, who looks put out, but not totally upset. Tom gives Rosie a thankful nod, and then grabs Gemma, tossing her over his shoulder as he totes her out of the kitchen. The noise of the two of them, carrying on, carries through the small house, but gets quieter as they go upstairs.

“She’s adorable.” I stand up, and start helping Rosie clean up the kitchen.

“Thank you. Isn’t she? She’s something else. She’ll be heading off to kindergarten in the fall. I just can’t wrap my head around it.” Rosie sighs, rubbing her hands on tea towel, before pulling out containers for leftovers. I start scraping plates, and we work together in a comfortable silence. The thoughts in my head are anything but silent though.

“Forgive me if this is…out of line.” I lean a hip against the counter, watching Rosie finish loading the small dishwasher. She looks up at me, and I have a feeling she already knows what I’m going to ask.

“Gemma is my grand niece. She’s Becca’s daughter.” Rosie says with a sad sort of smile. Apparently, she did know what I was going to ask. I nod, thinking back to the Becca I knew ten years ago. Gemma does bear a striking resemblance to her—the same curly dark hair and brown eyes.

“Is Becca…” I trail off, feeling a pit in my stomach.

“Oh, Becca is fine. As fine as you can be. But she’s not here. Last I heard, she was in Switzerland.” Rosie shrugs, as if this is something she talks about often and doesn’t care to linger on. I’m relieved that something bad didn’t happen to her, but I’m also even more intrigued by the situation than before.

“So Tom…” I prod gently. Rosie closes the dishwasher door, and looks at me, her eyes sparkling.

“Tom is the best person I know. And his story is his. So you should ask him, if you want to know, Billie Darling.” She smiles at me, and that is the end of that.

We finish cleaning up the kitchen, talking about what’s changed in the time that I’ve been gone. New pier at the end of the main strip of beach. A lift on the short ban on bonfires on the beach. More tourists. Etcetera, etcetera. Rosie is in tune with everything in this town, and she knows everyone. She’s lived here her whole life.  

A half hour passes, and we sit, chatting at the kitchen table. It’s dark out now, and the only light on is the dim light hanging over the table. I can hear Tom and Gemma upstairs. They are speaking in strange voices, and I’m pretty sure at one point that Tom is a pirate. I hear Gemma laughing, and then yelling, and then Tom scolding her gently to use ‘indoor voices, darling’.

It gets quiet after some time, and just as Rosie has finished telling me about a wedding of one of my former classmates, we hear Tom coming down the stairs.

He appears at the doorway to the kitchen, nearly filling it with his tall, lean frame. He reaches up, places his hands at the top of the frame. It’s an old house, and he barely clears the top of the doorway. His shirt is soaked slightly at the front, and he’s rolled his sleeves up. He looks at me for a moment, as if he’d forgotten I was there, and then the look is gone. He turns to Rosie and smiles, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“She’s waiting, madam,” He nods to Rosie. She grins and stands up, reaching over and patting my hand.

“Nice talking to you, sweetie.” She smiles and I cover her hand briefly with my own.

“You too, Rosie. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

She disappears out of the kitchen, and down the hall, and Tom and I are left alone in the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, pushing a big hand through his already messy hair. Bathtime must be a bit like a war zone.

“I should go home.” I say lamely, standing up. I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome. To my surprise though, Tom reaches into the fridge, grabs two new beers, and holds one out to me.

“Want some company on the walk home?” He asks. I nod, without even needing to think about it.

**** 

We don’t make it far down the beach, before pausing at the water’s edge. The moon is full, and it’s so bright out, and the whole beach is cast in a silvery white light. Tonight has been unexpected. I haven’t stopped thinking about Gemma, and Becca and how Tom is interweaved into that pairing. The answer seems obvious, but I want to hear it from his own mouth.

“I can practically hear the wheels turning.” He says with a soft laugh, plopping down in the soft, cool sand. I sit down next to him, beer in one hand.   I dig my fingers down, through the cooled down first layer of sand, and into the warm sand that still holds the heat from the day.

“Just ask.” He looks at me, the smile faltering slightly. I let me eyes wander over his face, highlighted at his cheekbones and angular jaw, by the bright, pale moon. There’s a few days stubble on his cheeks, and I get the strange urge to touch him. I dig my hands further into the sand.

“It’s not really my business.” My voice is soft, and the waves crashing feet away from us, seems to drown it out a bit. Tom shrugs and takes a long drink from his beer.

“When has that ever stopped anyone? You’d know something about that.” He grimaces and looks at me pointedly. I wonder how much he knows, and how much he’s just not saying.

“I do.” I agree.

“Will you be here long?” He asks, pulling his long legs up and leaning back against his outstretched hands. I tuck my legs under me, the question rolling around in my head.

“No, probably not.” I shake my head, then look out to the ink black sea, silver on the top from the reflecting moon. Tom nods and we are quiet, taking in the beach and the ocean. Night settling in around us.

“I googled you. Just now, after I put Gemma to bed.” He says suddenly, and I splutter on the sip of beer I’ve just taken. I turn to him, reaching over and shoving his knee. He tilts slightly but then flashes a quick smile.

“You googled me?” I raise an eyebrow, wiping my mouth against the back of my hand. He laughs.

“Well, I was intrigued. I knew you were famous but, jesus, Billie. You’re really famous.” He is digging little holes into the sand with his feet, and I start doing the same.

“Don’t get all weird on me, now. Do you want my autograph? You’ve already had my puke on you.” I roll my eyes, and Tom laughs.

“Will you sign my boob?” He grins and I can’t help but smile. We both get quiet then, and I wait for it. Wait for him to mention why I’m here. He had to have seen it. It’s all over the internet. It’s the only thing that comes up when you type in “Baby Darling”.

“I wish you hadn’t looked me up.” I whisper softly, and then groan. He shifts, turning his head.

“Why’s that?”

“You were just about the only person in the world, it seemed like, that didn’t know.” I blink.

“Know about what?” He asks. He’s going to make me say it. It’s my story. I have to tell it.

“The video. The ‘sex tape’ as they call it.” I bite my lower lip, hard, feeling my shoulders tense.

“Ah, yes, I did see something about that online.” He says sedately. I groan, shifting uneasily.

“Did you watch it?” I ask the million dollar question, holding my breath. He could lie. He could tell the truth. I won’t know either way, but I know what I want him to say.

“Gemma was asleep about four feet away. Not exactly the time to watch porn.” He says with a laugh, and he looks at me, eyebrows furrowed. I gasp, and reach over to smack him on the arm, but he catches my wrist in his hand before I can. He holds me firmly, but not harshly, and then eases up almost immediately.

“I won’t watch it. It’s not my video to watch, is it?” He looks at me, his eyes searching mine, his thumb pressed lightly against my inner wrist. I blink, look away and pull my arm away from his grasp.

“Thank you. Even if you’re lying. Thank you.” I whisper, bring my beer up to my lips. I wish it were something stronger.

I don’t know why people think I’d be happy to hear they’ve watched my sex tape. When I was in LA, I’d have people walk up to me on a daily basis and tell me. It’s as if they think that admitting they’ve watched a stolen, leaked personal video is going to make me excited to know them.

Ever since it was released, a little over a month ago, I’ve felt as if I’ve been walking around, stripped nude wherever I go. Whether people have seen it or not, admitted to it or not, I’m exposed to the world. When the rumors started happening, Shorty did everything he could to stop it. He tried to sue my ex, Jordan, but that went nowhere. We tried to come to some sort of monetary agreement, but Jordan refused any offer. Apparently he had some ironclad support from the porn website he had partnered with, and I was pretty much shit out of luck.

My consolation prize, for being stripped bare and my privacy violated, is half of the sales. Half of the sales of a video that I didn’t even want to see the light of day. A video that was intended for someone I loved, and thought loved me. It’s a brutal wake up call. Sorry, you’re naked all over the internet! Sorry about your private moment being stolen, screenshotted, picked apart, circled in red pen and blow up into nothing but pixels. But here’s some of the money we got from selling it! Here’s some money to cover your wounds.

“It’s quite a thing to be running from.” Tom breaks into my thoughts, and I have to bite my lip again, holding back emotions I don’t feel like dealing with.

“I told you it was a bad.” I laugh bitterly. He’s quiet for a minute, as if he’s not sure what to say. Or maybe he’s trying to think of the best escape route. I have a lot of baggage, and right now, it all laid out around us on this beach. If he runs, he’s going to have a lot of obstacles to overcome.

“You’re safe here, Billie.” Tom looks at me, the corners of his mouth barely lifting in a smile. I take a deep breath. He could be lying about everything. He could have seen the video a hundred times over. He could be calling the paparazzi right now, telling them where I am. But I don’t really care.

Something makes me believe him.

“Tell me your story, Tom.” I ask. “Is Gemma your daughter?” I wait, and Tom runs a hand over his jaw, then digs a spot in the sand for his beer.

“No, Gemma is not my daughter. Not by blood at least.” He answers finally.


	6. 5: Becca, a strange place, an offer

Not his actual daughter. Ah, the plot thickens. I shift in the sand, and then turn my body so I’m facing him instead of the ocean. He doesn’t look at me, lost in his own thoughts.

“Well, you just made it to my most interesting people list.” I lean toward him, wondering how much he will tell me. I’m sure Sam and Rach must know everything, but I somehow want to hear it from him. Rosie was right—it’s his story, he needs to tell it.

Tom smiles and then finishes his beer. We are quiet for some time, but it’s not awkward. We’ve breached something, and I don’t know if either of us is completely ready for it. We’ve just met, after all. The fact that he’s best friends with my sister and brother in law, has given us both, it seems, a good sense of familiarity. The idea that, if someone you love speaks highly of someone else, then they automatically get a free pass.

“It’s a long story, and I don’t know if it’s a good idea to get into it.” He says finally, and looks at me. I nod, understanding, though I admit that I’m a little disappointed.

“Okay, that’s fair.” I sip my beer, and lean back into the sand. It’s cool, and then warm under my legs, and as I move around a bit, it molds to the shape of my body. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up, so I can put my head down, without getting sand in my hair.

“The short version…” He glances at me out of the side of his eye, and then lies back next to me, putting his arms up and over his head. I watch his legs stretch out, his shirt rising up, pulling from his waistband as he stretches up. He seems about twice as long as me, stretched out, and I can’t help but curl up, turning on my side to face him. I put my hands under my cheek, watching his silhouette.

“Short version.” I urge him on.

“I was married to Becca. Gemma is her daughter. Becca left, I stayed.” He says this staring up at the night sky, and I get the strange feeling that he hasn’t had this conversation with many people. I raise up onto my elbow, supporting the side of my head with my hand. I picture him married to Becca. I picture them together, and something in my stomach lurches slightly. Like a kick right under my belly button.

“She left her daughter? And you stayed…” I whisper softly. I’m not a mother. The thought of it scares me to death, but I still cannot imagine ever leaving my child. Especially when I’m perfectly capable of staying and raising her. Tom turns his head, and his eyes are dark in the moonlight.

“Here I am. Did you know Becca?” He asks.

“I did. Not well, but we went to high school together.” I swallow, my throat feeling dry. I try to remember that girl I knew. “She was always very outgoing and confident. Beautiful.” I press my lips together. Becca was the definition of free spirited. A gorgeous girl, who always had boys after her. But she was never one to be tied down to anyone. More than one or two fights had to be broken up because of her flippant trysts with different boys in the neighborhood.

“Just the other day I got the word that I’m Gemma’s legal guardian now. It’s something I’ve been fighting for, with my lawyer, for four years.   It was finally finalized.” He sighs, then chuckles softly. “Funny how one of the worst decisions of my life could eventually lead to the best damn thing in my life.” He speaks softly, almost to himself. He words are lined with gratitude, and I can almost tell that even he is still in shock that it’s finally happened.

His words are surprising to me, though I’m not sure why. I blink, and watch his mouth widen and turn into a bright, nearly gut wrenching smile. He’s brilliantly happy.

“That’s wonderful. Really.” I say, wanting so much to know the whole story. But I can tell he’s not the sort. If he wants to share, it will come. If not, then I should be happy with this.

“I haven’t told that to many people. Just Rosie and Sam and Rach. So, it feels good. To say it out loud. There was a time, for a good while, where I thought I’d lose her. I couldn’t and didn’t want to talk about it, because I was afraid if I said it out loud, then all the bad things would come true. It’s been so many years. It would have broken my heart.” He sits up then, and I can tell, with the quick movement, that he’s finished sharing. His body language changes, as he leans against his knees. I sit up as well, brushing sand from my back and shoulders.

“Gemma is very lucky.” I manage.

“Ah, well, I’m the lucky one.” He laughs softly.   I have to admit, it’s been awhile since I’ve had a conversation like this. Most of my conversations back in LA are about music, or some promotional event I have to go to, or awards ceremony. Clothes, hair, makeup. People tell me they love my music, or they want to party with me. I feel as if I’ve been dropped out of the sky onto terra firma, and I’m not used to this. Real conversation. The man sitting next to me is telling me about his life, about something real and life changing, and I don’t even know how to respond.

I wonder if I’ve spent so much time away, so much time in my bubble, that I’ve turned into something hard, and plastic as well. Something to match the world I live in.

“Do you want to get coffee sometime? Or drinks?” I ask suddenly. Tom freezes, I can practically see his entire body tense, and I know I’ve perhaps said the wrong thing. I hold my breath. I didn’t know I was going to ask him out, but it sort of just slipped out. I can’t remember the last time I asked anyone out, but there’s something about him that’s making me wish I knew him better. Somehow, I wonder if this is going to be one of those moments I look back on and physically cringe. I have a bad feeling.

Tom turns his head, just slightly, so he can see me.

“I’m in a strange place right now, Billie, and I’ve a feeling you are too. Thank you for the offer. But I shouldn’t.” He says, and sounds genuine. If you’re going to be rejected by a man, it might as well be by a gorgeous British one.

“I understand.” I nod, quickly. Ouch. Cringe. It’s been awhile since I’ve been shot down, and I have to say, it’s still not fun. I’m sure he’s telling the truth. I’m sure he is in a strange place. But part of me wonders if it has anything to do with the video. Of course it has to do with the video. I don’t blame him. He has a daughter to think about, and his own career. Who would want to be associated with a washed up pop star with a terrible sex tape? I bite my lip, suddenly feeling a bit nauseated.

I begin to stand. I cross my arms over my chest, shivering slightly as I do since the night air has cooled down significantly. Tom follows and stands in front of me. He looks strange, wearing a dress shirt and black trousers, on the beach. He brushes sand off the back of his pants, and then we start walking, neither of us speaking.

Well. I’ve mucked that up. So much for fresh starts. Puke on him. Check. Ask him out and be rejected. Check. I should just ask him to marry me, and then maybe I’d really be set!

We walk in silence the rest of the way to Rachel’s house. Though it’s not as comfortable as it was earlier, it’s not terribly awkward, which is surprising. He’s preoccupied, and somehow I can tell this by the set of his jaw. He’s strangely easy to read, as he gives most things away in his body language.

“Thanks for walking me home. And for the company.” I turn to him as we reach the steps to the deck. I’ve made sure I have a key with me this time, so I don’t have to sleep outside. I tuck my hands into my pockets, finding it, small and heavy in my pocket.

“Thank you, as well.” He shifts his weight.

“I’m sorry about…asking you out. That was dumb of me. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I blurt out. “I admit that I’ve…not felt like myself lately.” I finish. He smiles, rocking back on his heels as he does.

“Don’t apologize, Billie. I…” He tucks his hands into his pockets, tipping his head down so he can see me. I take a step up, making us slightly more level in heights.

“I’ll see you around, then.” I cut him off, feeling embarrassment wash over me. I’m striking out left and right these days. I turn and run up the wooden stairs, doing whatever I can to get inside as fast as possible.

He doesn’t call after me, or rush up the stairs to cut me off at the door. This isn’t the movies. We’re not in love or in lust even. I don’t even know that he likes me as a person. I let myself into the house, without a backwards glance. When I’m safe inside, the door shut tight, I give in and peak outside through the side window. I can see his tall silhouette, walking away back down to the beach.

I sigh, and press against the sliding glass door. I feel suddenly very heavy.

I feel lost.

I lean back against the door, letting the back of my head hit with a dull thud. The house around me is quiet. If I am going to be honest, I feel more alone than I have ever felt.

It’s simple, really.

I built a life around a persona. I built a life and surrounded myself with all the wrong people. None of them care about Billie Darling. They only want Baby. I remember a conversation I had two weeks ago with a guy who, while hitting on me rather aggressively, also slipped into the conversation that he had two of his “baby mama’s” on his ass for child support. A few weeks before that, I let Shorty set me up on a date with a guy who told me he would only wear clothes from a certain designer, and that he fired his last three assistants because they kept forgetting to call him ‘Master’, a name which he just thought was hilarious.

And now I’m here. The contrast is so astounding, that I feel disoriented.

What does it feel like to know someone that loves so deeply, so genuinely, that they will adopt a child that isn’t even their own? Who’s devoted their life to something and someone they didn’t even know a few short years ago?

I yearn to know what that feels like. To surround myself with people who feel genuinely, and are more concerned with bubble baths and cat cookies than record sales and fashion week.

Sadly, it seems he doesn’t really want anything to do with me. And to be honest, I don’t really blame him. From the outside looking in, I don’t really have much to offer.


	7. 6: 327 messages, an apology, THE girl

Early Friday morning, after a meandering walk on the beach at a little past seven, when it was still cool enough out and not crowded with tourists, I settled back into the small guest room at Rachel and Sam’s house.  They had moved into this house after they’d been married, and after they had, mostly by luck, found it was for sale and at a price that was surprisingly within their reach.

Rachel and I hadn’t always lived life on the Delaware beach front.  We started out in the trailer park, much farther inland near the farms.  We bounced around, from home to home for awhile, but the beachfront had always been out of our reach.  It was a place reserved for our wealthier friends at school (like Becca), and where all the nicer houses in town resided. 

I’d offered to help Rachel when she told me her and Sam were looking at the home.  Honestly, I’d offered to buy it for her, but she’d declined.  I’d just released my second album, and the digital single had been on the top of the charts for weeks. I wasn’t hurting for money, and had just bought my own house in Los Angeles. I’d paid for it in cash.

She said that Sam made decent money now that he had tenure, and her pottery business was picking up.  I believed her, and didn’t push the issue. We’d always taken care of each other, and I knew she would come to me if she ever truly needed help. But she wasn’t one to take handouts. And I wasn’t surprised that her pottery business was booming—she’d always been the visual artist in the family.  Music makes sense to me, but visual art is something that eludes me. 

Still, when I deposited a chunk of money into her bank account right before she closed on the house, she didn’t reject it.  We had relied on each other our entire lives.  She knew I had to give her something, it was impossible for me not to.  She’s my only family, my best friend.  If I can’t share what I’ve got with her—then what’s the point of it all?  We don’t ever really discuss the money, but she sent me a card a week later. It was something simple and straight to the point, like my sister.  But I knew she appreciated it. 

I can see why they love this house.  Apart from being steps away from the beach, it has an expansive deck (aka my second bedroom, apparently), and a fantastic loft that Rachel uses for her art studio.  The natural light abounds, and it’s also a good place to put her kiln.  It’s still relatively small, as far as beach houses go, and boasts only two bedrooms.  The guest room faces the back of the house, on the second floor, so while there isn’t a direct ocean view, I can step out onto the small deck on the side and see the ocean from there.  As far as places to go when you’re in hiding, this isn’t too shabby.

I park myself in the wicker chair on the tiny deck, propping my feet up on the weather worn wooden railing, mug of coffee resting on my knee.  I’ve made it black, which is how I had to get used to it in LA. Can’t afford the extra calories of cream and sugar.

I stare down at my phone, which has been turned off since I arrived.  Over a week now.  No contact with the real world.  I stare at the blank, black screen, feeling anxiety kick in as I try to guess what will be waiting for me.  Shorty knew I was going off the grid, but that won’t keep him from trying to contact me.

“No time like the present.” I whisper softly.  I hit the power button, and wait for the phone to cycle on.  It takes a moment, and as it connects to internet and service, various alarms and alerts start going off.  It’s like a terrible, gut wrenching song that signifies the beginning of the end.

“Hey.” A voice over my shoulder, soft and hesitant.  I look up and see Rachel, her head poked out the French door.  She looks like she’s just woken.

“Hi.” I take a sip of my coffee, and nod toward the other wicker chair, inviting her out.

“What are you doing? I heard you leave earlier.”

“Went for a walk.  Now I’m…checking my messages.” I hold up my phone, which is currently displaying that I have 327 text messages and 38 voice mails.  I can’t see how many emails I have, and I don’t really want to know.

“Holy shit.” Rachel shakes her head, and grimaces.  “I do not envy you right now.” She murmurs, sitting down in the chair next to me.  She’s still in her pajamas—a camisole and shorts which look like she’s owned them since the 90’s—all ratty green plaid. Sort of hideous. I love her for it though. She scoots the chair closer to where I’m sitting, so we are elbow to elbow.

“I don’t want to look.” I glance at her.  She looks so much like me, it’s sometimes startling.  Same blond hair, though she keeps hers in a shorter layered cut instead of the long, wavy length like I do.  Right now, I resemble some sort of messy, frizzy mythical creature with the way the ocean air has been wrecking havoc.  She has similar blue eyes, and the same build as I do.  Growing up, we were often confused for each other, or proclaimed to be twins.  Age has changed us a bit, and it’s a tiny bit more noticeable that she’s six years older, but not by much.

“Get it over with. It’ll be on your mind otherwise.” She looks down at my phone, which is still vibrating and chiming with alerts.

“Will you sit here with me?” I look at her, and she nods firmly, slumping back in her chair. I look down and start scrolling through messages.

“So who rang?” She asks, shielding her eyes from the sun. Gulls cry out above us as I start to scan through my phone.

“Shorty. Benji. Alyssa. It’s mostly Shorty. And Jordan.” I groan and open his texts first.

“You’re kidding me. That dick.” Rachel rolls her eyes and peers over my shoulder, at my phone. I hold it out to her so she can read along.

“We can make this work, Baby. They want an exclusive interview for Entertainment Tonight. They want us to do it together. They’re offering seven figures.” I read the texts from Jordan and feel my stomach start to churn.

“Holy shit.” Rachel gasps.

“I hate him.” I watch my thumb hover over his messages, scrolling through as he continues to beg for me to do interviews with him, or to “come around.”

“It’s already been released. We should move on, and work together. This could be lucrative for both of us.” I keep reading aloud, though I feel more and more nauseated as I do.

“Where does this giant tiny dick live? I will personally go to his house.” Rachel sits up a bit straighter, and I laugh at her name calling.

“What? Giant tiny dick?” I grin.

“Yeah. There’s nothing worse than a giant tiny dick.” She smirks. “Know what I mean?”

“I think so.” I chuckle. I look through Benji and Alyssa’s messages, which are all the same. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Where are you?’ ‘Do you need anything?’ Sort of messages. Benji is my hair and makeup guy, and Alyssa is my stylist. The closest thing I have to friends in LA. I trust them more than anyone else there, except Shorty.

Shorty’s messages vary from informational, to work related, to worried and concerned. He’s sent the most.

“Shorty wants to talk. Or come visit. He says there’s tons of press requests.” I tilt my head back, feeling a heavy weight on my chest. Rachel reaches over, taking my phone gently from my hands. She reads for a minute, before tossing it back on my lap.

“You really want him here? Won’t that kill your buzz?” She raises an eyebrow at me. I shrug.

“What buzz? I can barely keep it together. There is no buzz. But at least the paparazzi haven’t found me.” I take a deep breath. There’s no way to describe how it feels to be hounded, surrounded by photographers, all shouting at you and flashing their camera in your face. It’s one thing to have it at an event, but it’s quite another when you are leaving your house on a Sunday morning.

The morning after the video was released, I couldn’t even leave because my house was swarmed. Police had to come and set up barriers. It’s not like I wanted to leave my house anyway. I was too busy crying.

“Well, Shorty is welcome to come if that’s what you want. But he’s probably going to need to get a hotel room,” Rachel snorts softly. She’s never really hid the fact that she doesn’t like Shorty all that much. She doesn’t not like him, but she’s said that he’s just not her sort of people. And it’s true. He’s all business. He knows the music business better than anyone I’ve ever met. He can be ruthless. He can be calculating. But he’s always doing it for the good of his artists. And I’ve been his top artists for the last ten years.

“I need a little more time. Then I’ll invite him.” I turn my phone over, so I don’t need to see the face of it.

“Good plan. How are you doing though, Bee? I feel like we haven’t really talked.” Rachel pulls her hair back, off her shoulders. The morning sun is starting to get hot, the humidity picking up.

“Alright. It’s nice here. It’s as if it’s been untouched.” She nods in agreement.

“What did you do last night? You got in sort of late.” She turns to me. I put my feet down, suddenly wondering if I should tell her I was with Tom. I don’t know how she’ll react to it.

“I bumped into Tom at the bakery. He invited me to Rosie’s for dinner. Then he walked me home.” I say, trying best as I could to keep a level, neutral voice. Rachel raises an eyebrow, slowly, and gives me a pointed look. I break into a nervous smile.

“What?” I shrug.

“Be careful, please.” She says, her voice low. The way she says it, I know she’s not warning me off of Tom. She warning that I need to stay away from him, because I’m the dangerous one. I try to refrain from rolling my eyes. We will always revert to this relationship—big sister, little sister. Because of our age gap, and the way we grew up, sometimes it’s more like overprotective mother and daughter.

“It was just dinner and a walk, Rach. Relax.” I huff.

“He’s good looking though, right? Like too gorgeous for middle of nowhere Delaware.” She glances over her shoulder, as if making sure Sam is not within ears reach. Sam is good looking in his own right, and I know there’s no true worry there for either of them.

“I wouldn’t…kick him out of bed for eating crackers.” I giggle, and Rachel starts laughing as well.

“He’s also the sweetest, most generous person I know. And he’s been through hell and back because of Becca. So don’t play with him, Bee.” It sounds harsh, but she says it gently, and I know she means well. My sister knows my history with men. It’s obviously rather rocky.

“I won’t. I promise. I don’t think I could if I tried.” I say softly, thinking of his gentle rejection last night.

“I don’t know how much anyone has told you about him, and Gemma. But he’s nothing short of a saint. And you know I love you, but you are only here for a short time. You could seriously put a hurt on him, if you don’t watch yourself.” Rachel presses her lips together, watching me.

“What do you mean?” I fiddle with my phone, and look nervously at my sister.

“You’re gorgeous, Bee. When you’re not off being Baby Darling, you’re just my little sister. I know the real you. You’re smart and hilarious and have the biggest heart of almost anyone I know. Save for Tom, honestly. So it wouldn’t surprise me if you two got along. But if you’re just looking for a distraction, maybe look elsewhere. You make men fall to their knees with a single glance. Don’t think he’d be any different.” She gets up, and reaches over, squeezing my shoulder.

I groan and shake my head.

“Oh please, with the false modesty.” She laughs.

“You think they just fall all over me? Some of them, maybe. But not the ones you’d want fawning all over you.” I grunt. “Besides, don’t worry, Rach. He already rejected my advances.” I say absentmindedly. Rachel’s eyes get as big as saucers, which makes me laugh.

“Goddamnit, Bee.” She groans.

“Sorry.” I cover my mouth with a hand, and Rachel begins swatting me on the arms and legs, shoving me over as she tries to sit on me.

***

Sam is bumbling around the kitchen, swearing softly as pots and pans rattle.

“Do you need help?” I ask from the couch, a long forgotten book open on my lap.

“No.” His grumpy reply, as there’s another crash of metal.

“Do you cook often?” I look over my shoulder, so I can see into the kitchen. Sam’s head pokes out from behind the bar that connects the main living area and the kitchen, his dark hair standing on end.

“Yes.” He narrows his eyes at me, and I’m not sure if his answer is a question or a statement.

“Okay.” I shrug, not wanting to get in the way. Sam has declared he’s making marsala, while Rachel is trying to finish up a project in the studio. It gets quiet in the kitchen, and I figure he’s got things under control.

I sigh as I set my book on the coffee table. I keep reading the same paragraph over and over, and getting nothing out of it. I’m about to give up and go bother Sam in the kitchen, when my phone starts lighting up. I’ve had it on, but on silent, since I turned it on this morning. I’ve tried not to check it, but I can see that it’s Shorty calling.

I pick it up, staring at the screen for a moment before swiping to answer the call.

“Hell, you answered! I knew I’d get you when it actually started ringing and not going straight to voicemail.” Shorty laughs, his familiar voice oddly comforting.

“Hi Shorty.” I sigh, sitting back.

“Hey, Baby. How are you? Did you get my messages?” He asks, jokingly. I grunt and make a noncommittal noise.

“Yeah, your one or two messages?” I cringe. From the kitchen, I hear Sam cursing again, and I wonder if dinner will be edible tonight of if I’ll be ordering us all take out.

“Sorry, but life moves on, even when you are hibernating.” He sighs.

“Do you blame me?”

“Not at all, Baby.” He’s quiet for a minute, and I’m not sure what to say either. “Are you alright?” He asks.

It takes me a minute before I can respond. “Yes. I’ll be okay.”

“Good. I knew you would be. You’re strong. You’re a fighter. You always have been.” His voice is upbeat, but a tinge fake. I know he’s putting on a good show for me. Shorty knows my story better than anyone, except my sister of course.

“I need a little longer.” I say.

“Okay, take the time you need. But I want to run a few things by you. Maybe I can come there? In a few weeks? After you’ve cleared your head a bit.” He asks. I nod, knowing that I can’t run away forever.

“That would be okay.”

“Alright. Good. I’ll set it up.” Shorty says, and I can hear him typing. He’s probably putting stuff in his calendar. I’m so used to his multitasking ways, I can practically see him doing it.

“Take care of yourself, Baby. And listen, I know you don’t want to think about it, but we need to think about making a statement of some sort. About the video. An apology, or just something for the media.” He suggests. I feel my stomach tighten.

“Okay, I’ll work on something.”

“I’ve got our best PR guys on you, trying to clean up this mess as much as we can. But I think what fans really need is for you to say something.” He suggests, and I know he’s right. I need to address what happened. But I don’t think I’m quite ready for that.

And honestly, the idea of apologizing for what happened…makes me feel sick. It’s not really my fault, is it? I understand why some people may want an apology—I let down a lot of people and fans, and I know I have a huge majority of young women fans. But still, something in my gut makes me want to stand my ground, and reiterate that the video was stolen, it was supposed to be private, and should not ever have been released.

Apparently, Shorty has other ideas. I’m not sure what to do.

“I’ll speak to you soon, Shorty. I just need more time.” I rub a hand over my eyes and forehead, feeling a headache come on. I’ve been sleeping okay since I arrived, but I’ve had a lot of strange, stress dreams. It’s taking it’s toll.

“Ok, Baby. Call me if you need me, honey. I’m thinking about you. I’m here for you.” His voice is softer, worried.

“Thanks, Shorty. Talk soon.” I manage, and then hang up. I’m not quite ready to face reality. Not at all. I turn my phone off completely, setting it on the coffee table. Maybe I don’t need that just now. I need to stay unplugged. Away from the offers for interviews, and to hear ‘My Side of the Story!’. Away from magazine covers, and more offers to do real porn movies. Most of my email is filled with offers from porn companies and Penthouse and Playboy, all wanting something from me.

I may have built a career around my music, and my image. But I’ve kept things on the tamer side, up until now. Shorty calls me the “All American Surfer Party Girl”, though I’m not sure how true that name is. My music leans on the side of Jack Johnson, with a touch of Katy Perry. It’s taken on it’s own life over the years, after more and more producers wanted to work with me. More and more people telling me they have a new vision for the future of my “brand”. Thinking about it now, I don’t even know what it means.

“Sam? I’m gonna step out for a bit. Can I get you anything you need for dinner?” I stand up quickly, yanking at my skirt as I do.

“Ah, yes, actually. Thank you.” Sam peers around the kitchen wall, smiling. “So, I’ve used all the marsala for the sauce. But I need more. And we need some for drinking. So, will you run to The Bar? They’ll be the only place open at this time. Tom’s working tonight. He’ll let you carry out two bottles.” Sam comes around, pulling out his wallet and fishing out some cash.

“It’s fine. I got it.” I brush away his money. The mention of Tom makes me feel a little strange, but I brush it away. I’m just excited that I know people again. I’m sure that’s all.

“Are you sure?”

“Sam, you’re letting me crash at your house, and making me dinner. I can pick up a couple bottles of wine.” I elbow him in the arm and then begin gathering my stuff.

“You want to take the car? It’s about half a mile away, in town next to the diner.” He says.

“I know where The Bar is,” I wink at him. “Remember? I grew up here too.” I throw my bag over my shoulder, grabbing a canvas tote from under the kitchen sink as I do. Rachel uses them for groceries, and I figure I can use them for the wine.

“Ah, yes. Sorry. I just…forget. You’ve been gone so long.” Sam shrugs sheepishly. I nod as I slip my flip flops on. It was a hot day today, but it’s cooled off a bit in the evening. I’m wearing my long, black and white striped cotton maxi dress. I’ve braided my hair again into a thick plait, throwing it over one shoulder, trying to control the crazy curl and wave of it.

“It’s fine. I’m going to walk, if it’s okay. It won’t take long.” I say. Everything in this town is within walking distance. I feel like I need the fresh air to get away from my conversation with Shorty. Rachel was right, it was a buzzkill.

“It’s no rush. This sauce needs to simmer for awhile anyway.” Sam looks relieved.

I step out through the sliding door. It’s a little past seven, and the sky is full of the colors of the sunset. Reds and pale pinks and streaks of coppery yellow. It’s a beautiful sight, and I feel myself relax almost as soon as I start walking. The streets are deserted, save for the occasional car or biker. Despite it being tourist season, it’s nothing like what I’m used to in Los Angeles. No traffic. No hoards of people.

I walk past a few people on my way—couples walking their dogs, kids on their way to the beach before it gets too dark. They all smile, and some of them say ‘hello’ in that neighborly way. No one recognizes me. It’s marvelous.   I don’t know what it is, why I’m able to stay so well hidden in plain sight. I haven’t worn make up in a week, but it’s something else. They aren’t looking for me. They aren’t trying to pick me apart. They’re just people on vacation, or locals going about their day. To them, I’m just a normal girl, taking a walk.

                It doesn’t take long to get to The Bar. The small parking lot next to it is completely packed, and I can hear the noise coming from inside. Friday night at one of the only bars in town. It’s going to be elbow to elbow. The night that I got hammered and passed out on the deck, I had gone to the other bar in town—the Clamshell. Similar to The Bar—both dive bars, both run by locals.

I step inside, letting my eyes adjust to the much darker inside. There’s a vague sea shanty styling to the place, but it’s very vague. Mostly, it’s just worn wood floors, and a large, long wood bar. The walls are navy blue, and there’s a few old Captain’s wheels on the walls for decoration. The lighting is dim—there’s a few wall sconces that look ancient, and a couple tiny oil candles on some of the tables. No one really cares about the ambience of the place though. That’s not what they’re here for. It is crowded inside, but not as bad as I’d feared. There’s a few open spots at the bar, but all the tables are taken. A pool table is nestled toward the middle of the room, and two games of darts are set up at opposite sides of room.

A few eyes follow me as I walk toward the bar, but I know it’s not because they recognize me. The majority of the population in the room is male, and I stick out like a sore thumb in my spaghetti strap sun dress and my nearly white blond hair.   I feel like my skin is practically absorbing light, making me shine like some sort of beacon.

I don’t see Tom when I make my way through the small crowd, up to the big bar. There’s a bartender there, but it’s a woman. She’s younger, maybe a few years younger than me. She’s pretty, with dark short hair. She’s wearing a white tank top, and has an impressive amount of cleavage going for her.

“Hi, can I get you something?” She asks, setting a coaster down in front of me.

“Um, is Tom here?” I ask, leaning forward to be heard over the yell of some people at the dart boards. She gives me a once over, and then nods.

“Sure, hold on.” She disappears through swinging doors behind the bar, returning only a few seconds later.

“He’ll be out. Can I get you a drink while you wait?” She asks, leaning to slender arms against the bar.

“A coke?” I say, and I can practically hear how badly she wants to roll her eyes. She uses the nozzle to fill me a pint glass, and sets it down in front of me.

“One coca cola!” She smiles, and then turns to attention to the men next to me, all ordering Miller Lites.

“Thanks.” I manage. It’s been awhile since I’ve had soda. I wasn’t going to order anything, but when she asked, it just popped into my head. Now, I stare at the bubbling, brown liquid, my mouth watering. Soda was strictly against my diet, and basically my entire life. I think the last time I had a soda, it was during my senior year of high school.

Oh my. I really have lost all moral compass.

I lean forward, closing my eyes as I take a sip through the straw.

Sweet jesus. It’s like liquid candy. I groan and wrap my hands around the cold, sweating pint glass, taking another icy, bubbly sip. There is nothing in the world as delicious as an ice cold coke.

“Good god, if everyone drank soda like that…it would be illegal.” Tom’s voice breaks me from my reverie, and my eyes open quickly. He stands directly in front of me, hands on the bar, leaning forward so he’s mere inches from where I’m sitting.

“Oh!” I can’t help but exclaim. I didn’t hear him come out. I didn’t see him, because I was too busy nearly orgasming over soda.

“It’s good, yes?” He leans forward a bit more, watching me. I blush, not able to help it.

“Yes. I haven’t had a soda in forever.” I sigh. “Ten years probably.” I whisper. His eyes widen, and he stands up straight, grabbing a rag behind the bar and wiping it down quickly.

“Is this some strange musician thing?” He asks, flashing a smile. He’s wearing a black button down shirt, rolled up at the sleeves to reveal tanned, toned forearms. His hair is pushed off his forehead, as normal, but a longer, stray lock has fallen forward. It takes everything in me not to lean forward, and brush it off and into place.

“I was…on a strict dietary regiment.” I sigh, not wanting to talk about it. He stops wiping the counter, and stares at me for a second before shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe me. The other bartender—the woman, is watching us from the other side of the bar. In between serving up beers to other patrons, her eyes don’t leave Tom’s silhouette. Interesting.

“So is this your idea of a good time on a Friday night? Drinking coke at the local dive bar?” Tom smiles at me, flashing white teeth. Maybe it’s all the sugar, but I feel suddenly a little light headed. All mentions of Shorty, the media apology, Jordan…it’s all gone.

“Ah, well. I need some wine.” I take another sip. Heaven.

“Oh? Planning on camping out again tonight?” He laughs at his own joke, and I can’t help but be a little charmed.

“No. It’s for Sam. He’s making marsala. He told me you’d sell me some bottles to take home.” I lean forward on the bar. I can still feel a few people watching, most notably a guy sitting two bar stools down. He’s younger, and with a group of friends. He’s been watching me since I walked in. I pay him no attention though, praying he doesn’t recognize me.

“That’s your story and you’re sticking to it?” Tom wrinkles his nose at me, joking. I grin and shrug.

“It’s a good story, right?” I laugh.

“I’ll get you something good. Any preference?” He asks, putting his hands on his lean hips. I swallow, shaking my head. I keep hearing Rachel’s voice in my head. Something about making men fall on their knees. It has to be all the caffeine and sugar in this coke, because for some reason I’m picturing Tom…on his knees in front of me.

“No preference. Just something good to have with dinner.” I manage after a second. Tom nods, reaches up and finally brushes that stray lock of hair back and into place.

“Be right back.” He turns, disappearing into the back. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I have to gasp silently a moment later when he comes back out, carrying a rack of just washed pint glasses.

“Thanks Tom!” I hear a voice call from the back. He hefts the glasses quickly across to the other side of the bar, putting them under the counter where the other bartender can put them away.

There are two types of men in this world. The type that go to the gym religiously. Who stare at themselves in mirrors, and kiss their biceps, and get big and beefy, and never actually put those muscles to use, save looking good in a sleeveless shirt. Then, there are the type that lead by example. That heft heavy racks of glasses around bars. The kind whose work in their daily life keeps them fit. Just the perfect amount so that when they wear nicely fitted black dress shirts, the lean, sinewy muscles in their arms and back move and ripples as they do.

The latter is the better kind, in my opinion. And I have a very good feeling that Tom doesn’t have time to go to the gym. He doesn’t need to.

“Sorry. One second.” He apologizes as he walks by, stopping briefly to refill my glass. I grin.

“Drink up. Try not to cause a riot.” He says softly in passing, as he walks away, back to the back storage rooms. I can’t help but laugh, and then take another sip of the glorious, sinful liquid.

He’s gone for a few minutes, but I’m happy people watching and drinking my coke. I can see the man that was watching me earlier, and after only a minute or two, he slides down the bar and plants himself next to me. I shift, give him a quick, but not necessarily friendly smile, and focus back on my soda.

Carbonated beverages. The only boyfriend I need, apparently.

“Hey there.” He speaks. I count to five, silently in my head and then take a deep breath.

“Hi.” I look over at him. He looks about 21 or 22, and strangely makes me feel horribly old. Not terrible looking. He’s got a short buzzed cut, and his forehead is a bit red from sunburn. Tourist.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, smiling. I shake my head, tipping my glass toward him.

“I have one. Thank you though.” I glance toward the back doors, wondering where Tom is. I don’t feel like being hit on by half drunk frat boy tourists. I don’t have the energy for that right now.

“I’m Erik.”He holds out a hand. I bite my lower lip, trying not to be rude.

“Hi. I’m Bee.” I shake his hand briefly, and he holds mine a bit too long, his larger hand caressing the back of mine. I pull my hand away and shift back so I’m looking straight ahead. All body language set to “Go Away!”

“Bee? That’s unique.” He laughs. I shrug.

“Sorry, Erik. You seem nice, but I’m just here to get some stuff to take home.” I give him the most friendly, sweet smile I can muster and hope to dear god he gets the idea.

“You want some company? I have something you could take home.” He grins at me, a boyish smile that’s both obnoxious and far too confident. I blink rapidly at him for a minute before slowly shaking my head.

“Sorry, buddy. Not that sort of night.” I manage. Erik shrugs, not seeming to mind, but then something on his face changes. I’ve seen it happen before. That moment of recognition. The moment when you go from just a girl, to THE girl. I tense, waiting for the blow.

“You look familiar.” Erik leans forward, eyes narrowed. I clench my jaw, and look at him like he’s insane. Sometimes it works.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met.” I quip, feeling my heart start to hammer. Where the hell is Tom? I slide off the stool. I’ll just leave without the wine if I have to.

“Holy hell. I know who you are. You’re Baby Darling!” Erik says, his voice hushed but assertive. I flash him a look, a rather significant look.

“Sorry, wrong person.” I walk away from the bar, but he’s on my heels.

“No, no I know it’s you. Fuck. I knew it!” He laughs. It’s always the same laugh when they realize who I am—sharp, sort of incredulous laughter. I hesitate at the end of the bar, which is the wrong move, because he sort of corners me between the end of the bar and the corner of the wall.

“Um, listen, Erik, right?” I decided maybe to try reasoning. He nods at me, eagerly. I watch his eyes scan my face, and then go lower, and lower. Ugh. “Erik, I’m on vacation. Just trying to stay under the radar. Think you could maybe, keep a secret for me?” I smile at him, and hope to god this approach works.

He licks his lips, and his eyes rolls slowly back up to my face. Yeah. That whole feeling naked and exposed to total strangers. Yes, this would be one of those moments. My skin is crawling.

“You are insanely hot. I’ve seen your video. Let me show you a good time, Baby.” He takes a step toward me, and I stop him with a hand against his chest.

“Sorry. Like I said, not that kind of night.” I push him gently, and to my surprise, he doesn’t push back.

“I can’t believe Baby Darling is in fucking Delaware!” He laughs, speaking to everyone and no one in general, as if he’s just hit some kind of lottery. Okay, time for me to leave. I turn, and run smack into someone else, a solid wall of chest. Only this someone, I don’t mind so much being in such close proximity.

“Everything okay here?” Tom looks from my face, to Erik, who has retreated a bit.

“I…should go.” I say, flustered. Tom sets the two bottles of wine on the bar, his frown deepening as he reads the situation. In the crowded bar, thankfully no one else has noticed what’s going on. But I just want to leave.

“Shit, man, do you know who that is? Baby fucking Darling!” Erik laughs, smacking Tom on the arm. Tom doesn’t move, or react.

“Keep your voice down.” Tom’s voice is steel, and not like I’ve ever heard it before. Erik frowns at him, and then groans, brushing him off.

“Fuck off man. Look at her. Do you blame me? Have you seen those tits? Honey, I jerked off to you earlier today—“ Erik is talking, but I’m not listening. I’m walking away, as fast as I can through the bar. I’d run if I could, but it’s too crowded. So I slip through the mob of people, maneuvering as fast as I can. My heart is beating so fast, the blood rushing in my ears like waves in the ocean. Embarrassment. Mortification. Humiliation. Those are my new names.

I make it outside, and once I do, I start running. I don’t look back, I just start running from words that are having no trouble at all keeping pace with me.


	8. 7: a hug, plasters and an urge

Tom sprinted out of the bar, glancing up toward the beach and then back toward the main road.  He wasn't sure which way Billie had gone, but he guessed she'd gone to the main road.  Easier to navigate and a faster route back to the houses.  Less likelihood of seeing people as well. He moved quickly, maneuvering around a small group of people trying to come into the building, as he set off in what he hoped was the right direction.  

He felt sick to his stomach for her. A combination of anger, and disgust at what that guy had said to her, making Tom go into high alert mode. Didn’t people like that have sisters? Mothers? Hell, even women friends?! Most likely not. And he didn’t know Billie well, but he knew she was struggling, and trying hard to keep her head above water. The last thing she needed was that sort of confrontation. Not that anyone deserved something like that.

Tom started jogging, determined to catch up with her. Surprisingly, it didn't take him too long.  She'd left the bar at a run, but must have slowed down after she'd made it to the safety and relative darkness of the main road.  The white stripes on her dress reflected brightly off the light from the just barely risen moon, and Billie looks like some sort of strange, night zebra.

"Billie." He called after her.  She spun around quickly, startled, probably not sure at first who was coming after her.  He saw her shoulders noticeably relax when she recognized it was him.

"I'm fine." She called out over her shoulder, then turned back around and kept walking. He felt his chest tighten, hearing her stilted voice.  She was either crying, or very close to it.  

Tom stayed back a bit, giving her a minute, not wanting to intrude on a woman who obviously already felt violated.  

"May I walk with you?" He asked after a minute, stopping where he was and waiting.  Billie kept walking for a few seconds, before slowing down and stopping as well.  She didn’t turn around, but she waited for him, and he took that as a 'yes'.  Tom silently jogged up next to her, and they resumed the short trek toward the houses.

He didn't say anything.  He wasn't sure what to say. He just didn't want to make it worse for her.

"I'm sorry.  I'm so...humiliated. And angry." Billie spoke after a moment.  She was looking straight forward, refusing to look at him.  She walked with her arms at her sides, rigid and tense, her shoulders bunched up, as if trying to make herself as small as possible.

"Billie." Tom said her name quietly, gently.  It took her a minute but she finally looked at him.  Even in the dim light, he could see her eyes were glassy, her face tense.  So, she hadn't been crying, but he had a feeling her anger, an almost venomous thing, was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.  It could be an interesting thing—anger—sometimes like a glue that could hold someone together.  All for the wrong reasons, but sometimes it was a necessary bandage.

"You forgot your wine." He said after a beat with a slight lift of his shoulders, and with that, something switched in her eyes.  Billie laughed, shaking her head, and Tom watched as she blinked and a fat, lazy tear fell from her eye.  He held his breath, wanting to laugh with her if it in anyway eased her pain, but he was finding it hard to breathe properly.  He stopped then and, somehow, managed to pull her to him. 

She moved easily, as if she was made of vapor--something light and barely solid.  He pulled her against his chest, hugging her tightly, fiercely.  Billie tensed for barely a moment before crushing herself against the solid wall of him, pushing her face into his chest, and wrapping her arms tight around his waist.  She sobbed then, for a just moment.  He felt her allow herself to give in, and then just as quickly she pulled herself together.

Tom could feel her wracked breath against him.  She felt small in his arms, and far too fragile for a woman he knew had to be strong. They stood like that for some time, Tom holding her in his arms.  They only broke apart when a car drove by them, illuminating their embracing figures and breaking any illusion of privacy that the dark had afforded them.  Billie took a step away, wiping quickly at her eyes. 

Tom rocked back on his heels, then tucked his hands into his pockets, watching her closely.

“I take it that’s not the first time something like that has happened?” He asked gently.  Billie made a low, disgusted noise and shook her head, brushing stray hair from her face.

“I should be used to it by now.  You’d be surprised how many people feel the need to tell me they’ve seen me naked.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and they started walking again. 

“No, I don’t think you should ever get used to something like that.” Tom swallowed, feeling his mouth go dry.  He glanced at Billie, who, he noticed was limping ever so slightly. 

“Are you okay?” He reached over, touching the back of her arm.  She shrugged. He could tell she was angry still.

“Yes. To add insult to injury, I fell on the way out of the parking lot back there.  I don’t think anyone saw.  Who knows, maybe someone got it on tape.” She groaned then. “And I don’t have the wine, and Sam and Rachel are going to want to know why, and I don’t feel like explaining…” She trailed off, stopping and putting a hand to her forehead. 

“I can’t go back there.” She groaned.

“I don’t want to go back there either. I have some bottles at my house. Let’s stop there and you can grab some.” Tom offered.  Billie turned then, looking at him.  Tom couldn’t quite read her expression in the dim night.  She was staring at him though, and it made him smile nervously. 

She was gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous.  You’d have to be dead not to notice, and even then, he had an idea that she could make cold blood warm again.  He also knew that she was just passing through.  And that he had to use every single last ounce of will power to keep things neutral, to keep his head on straight around her. 

It didn’t matter that he hadn’t had a woman turn his head like this since Becca.  It didn’t matter that after he’d walked her home after dinner, he’d fought the very real urge to stay on the beach with her the entire night.  He wanted to hear her story. He wanted to get to know her.  And bloody hell, did he want to touch her.  In any capacity that she’d allow him. 

But she wasn’t permanent.  And he’d had his fill of unreliable women.  It wouldn’t be fair to Gemma, and she was his number one priority.  Always.  So, after forcing himself to decline Billie’s offer for coffee or drinks, he’d ran all the way home, pushing himself hard to break a sweat.  Then, he taken the coldest shower in years, and he’d had plenty of lonely nights.  The shower hadn’t helped much, but it had cleared his mind.

Still, as soon as he’d saw her at the bar, her white blond hair nearly glowing in the dim light, he’d felt that same kick in the gut.

“Are you sure?” Billie asked, her voice sounded steadier now.  He nodded.

“Let’s go.” He tipped his chin in the direction they needed to go, and they began their walk back.  It wasn’t far.  Tom’s was closer to the bar than Rachel and Sam’s. 

His house was dark as they walked up, stepping onto the small front porch.  Gemma was at Rosie’s house, probably in bed by now.  He hated working night shifts at the bar, as he missed bed time, but it was the best time to make money.  He mostly took night shifts on the weekends, and sometimes went in for just a few hours to finish paperwork, which he’d been doing tonight.

Tom quickly opened his front door, and then swung it open, holding it for Billie.  She gave him a quick smile, and then went inside.  It didn’t fail to occur to him that he couldn’t remember the last time he had a woman over. He wondered if he should be nervous, suddenly wondered what his tiny house looked like to someone from the outside.

His home was much different than both Rosie or Sam and Rach’s.  It was smaller, much cozier, and more compact.  And to be honest, there was a sense of…impermanence to it. For the longest time, he hadn’t known if he would be staying or going. It was only recently that he’d committed to stay—let himself believe he would be able to.

Walking in, there was a wide, worn wood flight of stairs to the left.  Past the stairs, it opened up into a living space, and then a doorway to his tiny kitchen.  It was a cute house, though sparingly decorated. Rosie’s home was chocked full of knick knacks, photos on the wall and toys.  Tom’s was much more sparse. 

He had a leather couch, facing the small fireplace and a television, along with a worn armchair in the corner.  Evidence of Gemma was everywhere, or maybe it was more obvious because there wasn’t much else there.  Her drawings on his fridge, a tiny pair of shoes settled under the coffee table, multiple stuffed animals lined up on the couch.  She didn’t live with him, but they spent time here.

“Sorry, I don’t often have…adults over.” Tom laughed, feeling a strange burst of nerves kick in.  It was true.  Aside from Sam, Rachel, Rosie, Gemma and his lawyer, he wasn’t sure he’d ever had anyone over.  He moved quickly around the small rooms for a minute, picking things up, somehow worried about Billie’s opinion.  He knew what she was used to.  This was not it.

“Please, this is so cozy. I love it.” She stepped into the kitchen, pausing as Tom turned on the overhead light.  He set a few mugs in the sink, and then went over and grabbed two bottles of wine off a wine rack in the corner of the small room.

“These okay? I don’t have marsala. This is a pinot noir, which Sam can use, and this is just a blend.  Better for drinking.” He held them out, and Billie nodded quick, holding out her hands to take them.

“Thank you, so much.” She smiled at him.  Tom went to hand them to her, when he noticed the palms of her hands.  They were scuffed, rubbed nearly raw, and bleeding just slightly at the fuller parts of her palms.

“Billie! Shit, you’re bleeding!” He set the bottles down, and took her quickly by the wrist.

“Oh god, I didn’t realize.  My hands and my knee sort of broke my fall earlier.” She huffed softly as Tom tugged her out of the kitchen and started leading her upstairs.

“Right, well let’s clean you up.” He shot her a disapproving look, going into caretaker mode.

“I’m alright.” She said softly, but didn’t resist as he marched her upstairs and then ushered her into the bathroom. 

It was a good sized bathroom.  There was a clawfoot tub, with a shower attachment and a small pedestal sink.  She saw a row of rubber duckies lining the far edge of the tub, and next to a regular dark blue bath towel, there was a tiny, purple hooded towel that had what looked like the face of a cartoon hippo sewn into the hood. Billie blinked, brushing past Tom as he started rummaging through the medicine cabinet.

“Sit.” He closed the lid of the toilet, motioning to it. Billie obliged, sitting down with a small sigh.

Tom grabbed hydrogen peroxide and cotton, along with a tin of bandages from the cabinet and then stooped near Billie.

“Here.” He said softly. Tom brushed past her knees, sat directly across from her and balanced on the edge of the tub. There wasn’t much room, so he had to sit with his knees of either side of hers, their legs bumping each other as he opened the bottle and poured a bit on the cotton.

“Are you sure you’ve the credentials to do this?” She asked, a smile forming on her lips. Tom grinned, and then held out his hands for hers. She placed her hands lightly against his much larger ones.

“What? I don’t look like a doctor?” He smiled and leaned his head down, turning her hand over in his hands. Her hands were soft against his palms, small and delicate. He frowned slightly as he looked at her scrapes, mostly just superficial scratches, and began dabbing gently.

“No, you don’t.” She murmured. He looked up at her, over his brow.

“I can assure you, miss.” Tom said with mock authority. “I’ve cleaned many a boo boo. My normal patient is quite possibly the most hysterical little actress you will ever meet. You’re not doing too bad though.” He wrinkled his nose and then looked back down at her hands. Billie was quiet, holding her hands still as he cleaned her palms. It must not have hurt, because she didn’t flinch or make any noises. A few seconds later, he unwrapped a plaster, placing it gently over the bigger scrape.

“Superhero bandaids?” Billie asked quizzically, smiling, holding up her hand for inspection.

“It’s all she’ll wear. She’s a wee bit obsessed.” Tom sat up then, putting his hands on his knees, realizing just how closely they were sitting. Both of Billie’s knees were between his legs, touching his thighs.

“That’s adorable. Gemma has good taste.” She nodded, inspecting her hands. She groaned then, softly, and Tom felt it go straight to his low stomach. “My knee.” She moved then, maneuvering her leg out from between his. Tom watched Billie reach down, pulling fabric of her long skirt up, revealing her slender legs. He slid over slightly, moving his legs together, and leaning to the side to see her knee.

Her knee was much worse than her hands, bloody and scraped up.

“Ooh,” He grimaced as Billie sighed heavily. A dried trickle of blood was running halfway down her shin.

“I’m a mess.” She shook her head. Tom stood up, grabbing a wash cloth from the linen closet behind the bathroom door. He went over to the sink, letting the water run for a minute to warm up, before bringing it over to Billie.

“You took quit a spill then?” He squatted down in front of her, coming eye level with her knees. Her skin was as he remembered from the morning they met. Unblemished, save for her knee, and beautiful—nearly glowing in it’s color.

“I can do it.” She leaned forward, reaching for the washcloth. “Thank you.” Their hands brushed as Tom gave her the cloth, sitting back, then onto the floor. He leaned against the side of the tub as he watched Billie lean over her knee, dabbing gently and wiping away the slight blood. It gave him a moment to look at her—really look at her. She had this strange wildness to her—her hair always slightly a miss, her cheeks flushed, cooing softly as she tried to clean the sore parts of her knee. She didn’t seem like some famous celebrity, she seemed like the neighborhood girls Tom had grown up with. Except, she was exceptionally, breathtakingly beautiful and strangely unaware of it. How that was possible, he wasn’t sure. Especially considering who she was.

“Will you be around for the 4th?” He asked, breaking the silence. Billie looked up, surprise in her eyes.

“You celebrate the 4th of July?” She asked with a quick smile. He grinned and then gave a grumble of dissatisfaction. He stuck out his chin and frowned at her.

“No, but I have a child who thinks fireworks are the greatest thing since hot buttered toast.”

“Well, they are.” She laughed and then went to stand, before Tom stopped her, taking the washcloth from her and tossing it in the laundry basket under the sink.

“And it’s a big deal around here, as I guess it is in most places. They have a fair, fireworks on the beach, the whole nine yards.” He said, forgetting that she’d grown up here. Billie nodded though, letting it slide.

“Last year Gems ate cotton candy, and then threw up half way through the fireworks.” His eyes got big for a second, shaking his head at the memory. “So will you still be here, then?” He asked. It was only a week away, but he didn’t know what her plans were. If she even had any plans.

“I think so.” Billie replied softly. He felt her eyes follow him as he grabbed the peroxide off the counter, reaching up with a long arm. He dabbed the soaked cotton on her knee, and this time Tom heard her soft intake of breath, then a slight hissing noise from between her teeth as the peroxide fizzed on her cut.

“Sorry! Sorry.” He clenched his jaw, his hand coming up to hold her behind the calf. He then leaned forward, blowing gently on her knee, hoping to ease the sting. It was something he’d done dozens of times for Gemma, but now, here…it was very different. Her skin was smooth, soft and he felt her tense considerably as his hand went to her leg, gently but with enough strength to steady her.

Tom looked up at Billie, blowing again softly against her skin. Her hands were bunched in the fabric of her skirt, gathered around her thighs. She looked at him, her gray blue eyes slightly heavy lidded. She licked her lips, full and then he watched her pull her lower lip into her mouth. He couldn’t tell if she was still in pain or…

A thousand thoughts, feelings, urges…surged through him, and he blinked, then quickly started to move.

Tom rose to his feet, walking the short distance back to the cabinet. He started fumbling around with the contents inside, dropping a bottle of Tylenol in the sink. It rattled loudly, clanging against in the sink, as he grabbed for it. He grabbed a pad of gauze, and some gauze tape, then turned back to Billie.

She was watching him from where she was sitting, one knee still bent, the other raised up, her foot balanced lightly on the edge of the tub, revealing more skin than he was sure he could handle.

“I think you need this because…plasters—bandaids.” He coughed then, cleared his throat and blinked quickly. “Those plasters aren’t big enough.” Billie held his gaze for a minute before looking away, smiling to herself.

“Plasters.” She laughed under her breath, and took the gauze from Tom. She quickly taped the gauze to her knee, and then stood up. Tom backed up, putting away the peroxide and bandages. Billie brushed by him, out of the bathroom, the walls seeming like they had gotten much closer in that short amount of time.

Tom stood in the bathroom for a second, hands balled at his sides. He cursed softly, barely audibe, under his breath, and then turned and followed Billie out, and back downstairs.


	9. 8: an offer, a song, a train out of control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry about the delay between chapters. I'm back from vacation! Thank you for reading, and especially if you leave a vote/comment. Those things motivate me so much! I appreciate it!

 

There’s only so much to do here, and cleaning the house and wandering the beach can only keep me occupied for so many hours of the day.  Rachel does what she can to help—I sit in her studio with her for a few hours a day.  Sometimes we talk—catching up on things we haven’t had time to talk about in the last ten years.  Sometimes we’re quiet, simply enjoying being in the same space for once.  Still, often later in the evening after dinner, I start to feel the anxiety set in.  I don’t want to be a burden to my sister, and I know her and Sam probably want some alone time.  So I usually go for a long walk, trying to calm my nerves as well as give them some time alone in their own home.

 Sam must have noticed my anxiety, the result of thinking too much and sleeping too little. 

Halfway through dinner (I made grilled veggies and lemon tilapia), he suggests that I could come with him to work.

“As a student?” I raise my eyebrow, smiling.  Sam laughs and picks up his beer, shaking his head.

“No.  I think you’re a bit more…experienced than that.” He laughs.  “You can help out.  The students would be thrilled to have you there—a real musician.  A ridiculously successful one as well.  You can sit in the studio with us or work with me during one on ones.” Sam’s eyes went wide, as if suddenly realizing what a good idea he had. 

“I’m trying to lay low. I don’t know if advertising that I’m helping out at Sussex—“

“We can keep it quiet.  I’ll pick specific students that I know will be chill about it, and you can stay in the background.” Sam interjects.  “Besides, what else have you got to do? You can be a mentor of sorts.” He looks excited, shaking his head eagerly.  I chew nervously on my lip, looking down at my phone and flipping it on and off, anxiously.  It is tempting.  More than tempting.  To be around students and musicians, without the pretext of fame and the pressure of the business…it sounds wonderful.

“It might be good for you, Bee.” Rachel says gently.  I lock eyes with her for a moment, trusting my sister’s opinion.

“Okay. You’re right...” I nod.

“You can come with me tomorrow.  I’ve got a short day, so it will be a good time to come.” Sam grins, and claps his hands together triumphantly.  I grin, despite myself, feeling surprisingly excited for the first time in awhile.  I haven’t thought about music since I’ve been back.  I haven’t thought about singing or playing or anything really.  I’ve been so overwhelmed with what happened, that that instinct, that urge, has been quieted.  The thought of being surrounded by music and people creating…it makes me feel strangely hopeful.

“Thanks Sam, that sounds great.” I take a deep breath, and then try to ignore the flashing of my phone, alerting me to more texts, more messages, more emails.

 ****

Sam’s office is a good sized room—it has to be, mostly because there’s so much in it.  There’s a desk, a few bookshelves, an upright piano, and enough room to maneuver larger instruments in and out of the space.  Most of his students are vocal musicians, though on the way over he told me he has a few really talented guitar players and a fantastic celloist. He holds his one on one lessons in his office, along with any tryouts or rehearsals.  He teaches larger theory classes in the lecture hall in the center of the arts building. 

“I’ve got a private lesson later this morning, and a choral ensemble at noon.  In about half an hour I have my masters class, which I think you’ll really like.  Some of these kids are so gifted and they don’t even know it.  Raw talent.  We’re going into the studio today, just to play around.” Sam is full of energy, and it’s infectious.  It’s only a little past nine, but he is nearly bubbling with excitement.

“Are you always this excited to be at work?” I ask, taking a slow, appraising look at the books on his shelves.  Mostly theory, some reference, and quite a few biographies on famous musicians. 

“Yeah. Mostly.” He grins. “You wanna sing today? We can hang out in the studio for a bit after class is over.” Sam wiggles his dark eyebrows at me, and I feel my stomach sink.  Back in the day, before I’d made it big, Sam used to record me singing on his shitty old Gateway PC.  He was something like my first ‘producer’, though it was always just something we played around with.  Even as kids, we had music in common.  I’ve, on many occasions, tried to convince him to come to LA and record something in the professional studios I have easy access to.  But he’s always declined, saying he likes his quiet, boring life and doesn’t know much about all the “glitz and fuss” of mine.  If he only knew…

“We’ll see.” I say quietly, not looking away from the bookcases.  Sam doesn’t say anything for a moment, before there’s a soft tap at the door.  I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he goes over and opens it.

“Mr. Hunter, can I run something by you? I came up with this break through last night and I need an opinion.” The student at the door is young—though he must be at least 18, he looks more like 15 or 16.  He’s got an acoustic guitar in one hand, and a huge smile on his face.  His eyes flick to me, and I see recognition bloom, but then falter.  I turn away, pretending to be interested in the books.

“Sure, Vinny. Let’s go into Classroom B.” Sam says happily, turning to look at me before he leaves. “Be right back, Bee.”

I nod, and keep walking around the room.  There’s music everywhere—sheet music, CDs, notes scrawled on scraps of paper. It’s been awhile since I felt completely connected to my music.  Once you reach a certain level of success, people have a way of believing that what you make is now their’s.  What you create is something that they need to handle and mold and change to fit whatever image that have in their head.  You’re no longer an artist, but a machine—a commodity.  And everyone has an opinion.

I sit down at the piano in the corner, sighing softly, trying to decide if I’ll sing this afternoon.  I’m not sure where my voice is.  Looking down at the keys, I run my fingertips gently over the smooth ivory.  I press down, feeling the felted hammer hit the inner workings of the piano.  The sounds is low, deep and resonating.  It’s been awhile since I played anything.  I usually stick to guitar, but piano was my first love.  Rach and I had lived with a family—for almost two years, and they had a piano.  It was a run down thing—mostly out of key, and a few of the keys stuck, but it was a piano nonetheless.  I taught myself to play—the way kids usually do.  Starting with chopsticks and little musical games, and then working up from there. 

It takes me a few minutes, but I’m quickly absorbed into the world that only music can bring to me.  I’m not really playing a song, but a mixture of a few.  Some things are made up, some are like second nature.  My fingers move before my brain knows what I’m doing.  I keep quiet, playing as softly as I can.  The door to Sam’s office is open, and I don’t to attract attention, though music in a music department is hardly a novelty.

I’m not sure how long he’s standing there.  It could have been the entire time, for all I know.  I’m staring straight ahead, lost in the ambling melody I’m playing, notes and lyrics dancing across my vision, when I feel him before anything else. 

I turn my head, slowly, and Tom’s there, at the office door.  He’s watching me, quietly, and when I look at him, he breaks into a slow, lazy smile.  So, this is professor Tom.  So far, I’ve seen jogging Tom and bartender Tom and doctor Tom.  Professor Tom is wearing dark blue trousers and a light blue button up shirt, cuffs rolled up his arms.  He has on glasses, black rimmed, making him look honestly, like he stepped out of some nerdy wet dream.

“I knew it wasn’t Sam.  Sam doesn’t play like that.” He says softly, his shoulder leaned against the door frame, his arms cross over his chest.  I smile.

“Sam’s more of a rock and roller.” I play a more raucous, upbeat tune, banging slightly on the keys for emphasis. Tom laughs and nods.

“Indeed.  What were you playing? If I may ask?” He takes a hesitant step into the office, and I beckon him over with a quick smile.  He sets a cup of coffee in a take away cup on Sam’s desk, carrying an identical cup over.

“Nothing, really.  A mash up of…a lot of things.” I answer as he walks over.  He takes a seat at the bench next to me, our legs and thighs bumping up next to each other.

“You play beautifully.” He looks at me, and I feel a low rush of heat start on my chest and move slow trail up my neck.  He has these clear, honest eyes that I can’t seem to look away from.

“Thank you.  Do you play?” I rest my hands on the keys, but don’t push down.

“Sure, I dabble a bit.  But nothing like that.  Just little made up tunes to make Gemma laugh.  She really digs my pirate sea shanties.” He grins and then places his hands lightly on the keys, his left hand grazing my right.  We sit like that, still and not moving for a moment, as if poised for some sort of duet that neither of us quite know.

“Play something?” He asks softly, and he leans gently toward me.  We sway, just a bit, and then I meet his gaze.  It takes a moment, but I look away, and begin playing.  It’s one of my sadder songs—slow, lilting.  On the album, it’s been produced to hell—with synth and bass added in, along with a more electronic beat.  But now, here, this is how I initially had written it.  Quiet, sensitive, emotional.  I don’t sing though.  I just play.

“I never really thanked you for the other night.” I say quietly.  I haven’t seen him since the night at the bar.  Tom folds his hands on his lap, wrapped around his coffee cup, his head bowed down slightly, almost as if praying or in some sort of quiet reflection. 

“I didn’t do anything.” He says after a long pause.  I keep playing, my fingers moving up and down the keys.  At one point, I need to reach over him to briefly hit a higher key.  He doesn’t lean back, or away, but stays where he is, and my arms brush against his.  I can smell his skin, the soap he uses.  He’s like a mixture of sea and soap and warm male…something you can’t make up.  I feel the urge to move away from him, he’s too much of a temptation.  He’s quite a novelty, honestly.  A man who both isn’t threatened by my successful career, and also not desperately trying to tell me how often he wanks off to my stolen tape.  I can only hope this novelty doesn’t wear off.

“It’s been a long time since someone treated me like you do.” I manage.  “Aside from Rachel and Sam, of course.”  It’s true.  My life is usually full of what we call “Yes People”.  People who work for you, or with you, or near you, and they tell you whatever you want to hear.  Or whatever they think you want to hear.  It sounds great in theory, but in reality, it makes you feel…detached.

“How do I treat you?” He looks up then, and begins to slowly, quietly add notes into the song I’m playing.  It’s not obtrusive, and for the most part he’s just mimicking some of the easier chords I’m playing.

“Like a person.  Like Billie, and not Baby.  And I barely even know you, but I can tell the difference right away.  There are no stars in your eyes when you look at me.  No dollar signs either.” I say, barely a whisper.  Tom makes a small noise, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“That must get old quickly.  Being treated like a commodity.” He replies. 

“You must think I’m ridiculous though.  Complaining about my oh-so-privileged life.  Woe is me…” I pick up the pace a bit more, moving the song effortlessly into another.  Tom makes a small, scoffing noise and he shakes his head.

“I admit you live a privileged life, but I try not to pass judgment on anyone.  I don’t know other people’s stories.  I can only hope to understand them, and be granted a pass toward insight.  But no, I don’t think you’re ridiculous.  I can see where you’re coming from.  Living under a microscope like you do.  And now, things are magnified 100 fold.” He stops playing, and so do I.

“Thank you.” I manage to find my voice.  He smiles, and it’s a sad, quiet sort of smile.  I wonder how much of my life he really does understand.  The feeling of living outside your own story.  Of having things happen to you, instead of making them happen yourself.  Of being out of control of your own pathway. 

“Hey, can you believe that game last night?  I was shouting so loud that I’m pretty sure I woke up Gems.” He changes the subject so abruptly, with a hint of a mischievous smile, that I can only blink and then move along with him.  It’s as if he read my mind, and he’s happy to not talk about himself.

“Sam was watching.  Rach and I were working on some of her orders.” I perk up, and the quiet, intimate atmosphere of the last few minutes breaks gently, fading away.  Tom stands up from the piano, tucking his hands into his pockets as he walks over and hesitates at the door.

“Tell Sam I stopped by?” He asks, his eyes flitting over me.  I nod.

“He’s with a student.  Shouldn’t be long.  I’ll tell him.” I answer, trying not to be too obvious about studying him. Ever since the night of Dr. Tom…I have to admit that he’s been on my mind.  Lingering there.  Not necessarily in the forefront, but somewhere off to the side.  His bright smile, that nearly transforms his face.  That sandy, strangely unruly hair, despite everything else about him being neat, tidy, somehow studious. 

“Thanks.  Are you helping Sam out? His new assistant? Looking for a career change?” He asks jokingly.

“Something like that.” I shrug.  “He thought it would be a good idea if I came with him.  I was feeling a bit…useless, so he suggested I come help out.” I try to stay neutral, but I can’t help but watch his face for a reaction.  I don’t know why I suddenly care what he thinks.  Tom stays unreadable, though his mouth sinks down into a slight frown before he shrugs.

“That’s a great idea.  The kids will be really excited you’re here.” He gives me a quick smile, and then tilts his head back toward the hallway.  “I’ve got about a dozen papers to grade and various other dreams to annihilate.” He chuckles.  “I’ll see you later, then? For the 4th?” He asks. 

“Yes, see you later.” I nod, feeling a strange need to ask him to stay, though I know that’s just silly.  He’s working.

“Is your office nearby?” I blurt out before he can walk away.  Tom nods.

“Next building over, in the Lit Department.  Come visit me sometime.” He points out vaguely toward the right and I nod.

“Okay. I will.” He turns then and leaves.  A soft buzzing distracts me, as I watch him go.  It takes me a moment to realize it’s my phone.  I don’t know why I’ve brought it along—force of habit, perhaps.  I’ve kept it on, watching as it collects messages, ignoring them all the same.

I glace down, seeing it is a message from Shorty.  One of many so far that morning.

_We need to make a statement, Baby.  Release your apology.  It’s the only way we can move forward and fix things._

I read his text quickly, and then turn my phone off, feeling slightly ill.  Lately, it’s the same feeling I always get when something related to my music, my career, are mentioned.  Sick to my stomach.  Nauseated.  Like a train, out of control, screaming down the tracks with no intention of stopping.


	10. 9: seaglass, sticky hands, a situation

Tom groaned, picking up Gemma, heaving her onto his shoulders as she immediately stuck her sticky, melted ice cream hands into his hair.  It was a surprisingly mild day, and he was thankful for it.  In past years, some 4th of Julys were so swelteringly hot and humid that it felt more like swimming, while watching the parades and fireworks.  People would move slow, in no rush to cause more heat or make themselves sweat more.

  It was still a hot day—the temperature somewhere around the mid eighties, but the humidity was low, and there was a nice breeze coming off the ocean.   The sun was beginning to lower now, bringing even more relief from the glaring rays. Tom yanked down his tshirt, feeling it slide up as Gemma wiggled around on his shoulders.  Her small, sandaled feet tapped gently on his chest, moving to their own rhythm. 

“Better?” He asked, eyes looking up.  She let out a contented sigh, and he felt a warm, sticky hand wrap around his forehead.

“I can see everything.” She said, elated.  Tom chuckled to himself, marveling at her wonder.  Though at times exasperating and always exhausting, he loved her awe and admiration of everything.  Things were still new and surprising through Gemma’s eyes.  It was a gift she inadvertently gave him every day.

“Easy on the hair, darling.” He felt her tug, as if holding onto the mane of a horse, steering him where she wanted to go. 

“When are fireworks? I want to watch fireworks.” Gemma asked, and Tom shifted her weight on his shoulders. 

“Soon. In like half an hour. It needs to get darker.” He glanced back toward the center of town.  They’d light the fireworks off near the pier, on the beach.  He wasn’t worried about getting a ‘good spot’, as farther away was actually better for them.  Gemma was excited now, but there was sometimes tears when things got too loud.

“I can see everyone! I can see Billie, Tom! Go say Hi to Billie!” She started moving excitedly, squeezing her legs around his neck and smacking him unceremoniously on the top of the head.  Tom reached up and grabbed both of her tiny, flailing hands, calming her.  He hadn’t seen or spoken to Billie since running into her at the college.  It had been a strange, but not unpleasant surprise.  He liked the idea that Billie was spending her time with other musicians—students especially.  He had a feeling it might help her get back on her feet, or at least a better grounding of things. It wasn’t her normal scene, but maybe that’s what she needed.  He’d talked to Sam earlier that week, during one of their runs, and Sam had admitted he and Rachel were worried that Billie was just totally lost.

“Okay, which way, love?” Tom started jerking from one direction to the other, pulling Gemma’s arms out in front of her like some sort of compass point.  She laughed, babbling incoherently through her belly giggles.

“That way!” She said finally, tapping him on the left shoulder and pointing just past his ear. Tom turned, his eyes searching the crowd.  He saw her hair first, as he often did. He was surprised Gemma recognized her, but she wasn’t all that easy to miss.  She had on a baseball hat, a half hearted attempt to conceal her identity, he guessed.  Her hair was in a thick braid down her back, a white blond plait, messy and wild.  She had on a tiny, strapless dress, made out of some light printed cotton material. It nipped in at her small waist, and flowed out, stopping just above her knees.  At the moment, the breeze pushed it against her legs, molding it gently to the curves of her body, the v between her legs. 

Tom felt the quick kick in his gut.  It wasn’t a new sensation, but it was one that hadn’t been around much until lately. 

He took a faltering step forward.

“Do you see her? She’s there! Billie!” Gemma started screeching.  She had decided to call her ‘Billie’ instead of ‘Baby’ a few nights ago, after seeing another one of her music videos on the telly.  They had talked about it during bedtime—a time when they often had their most serious conversations.  Or the most serious you could get with a five year old (which to Tom’s surprise, could sometimes be rather serious).  Gemma had wanted to know in more depth why Billie had two names.  Tom had simply said that ‘Baby’ was her work name, and ‘Billie’ was the name her friends and family called her.  Gemma, having only met her once, nodded solemnly and said she’d call her Billie because she hoped they would be “best friends or maybe sisters” one day.  Tom had to then go into a long, probably overly long, diatribe on why Billie Darling would never, ever, ever be Gemma’s sister.  But, best friend, that could be a possibility.

“Billie! I see you!” Gemma said, her sing songy voice high and happy.  Tom watched as Billie turned around, moving away from the craft vendor she’d been looking at.  Her face was surprised at first, not sure who was calling out her name, but when she saw them, she immediately broke into a smile.  Tom felt the kick again, and he was sure it wasn’t just Gemma, digging her heels happily into his chest. 

“Look at you! Like a tiny princess up there!” Billie smiled up at Gemma, who was laughing.  “How’s the view?”

“I saw you from all the way over there! I can see everyone.” Gemma nodded.  Tom watched Billie looking up at Gemma, her face smiling and open.  He noticed she wasn’t wearing any makeup, light freckles dotted her cheeks and over her nose.  A few days in the sun obviously had started to make their mark.  She looked a lot different than the woman in the music videos, but he had to admit he liked this version better. 

“It does look like the perfect spot.” Billie reached up, gently tugging on Gemma’s sandal.  Tom suddenly had rather alarming visions of Billie with her thighs around his head…

He quickly cleared his throat, and his head, and tried to focus.  It must be the summer heat, getting to him.

“How are you, Billie?” He asked.  Billie looked up at him, her cheeks flushed pink with the heat, her eyes clear and blue as the ocean beyond them.

“Good. Looking at these bracelets.” She turned then, and picked up a bracelet from the vendor table in front of them.  Billie held it up, showing it to Tom and then Gemma.  It was a delicate silver chain, with rows of what looked like sea glass threaded around it. 

“Sea glass! That’s my favorite. Mermaids love sea glass, right Tom? And mermaids are my favorite.” Gemma said conspiratorially, her voice soft as if she’s just been let in on a secret.  Tom laughed and squeezed her legs.

“Sure, Gems.”

“Oh? Mermaids love seaglass?” Billie grinned and turned back to the table for a moment.  Tom watched her pick something up, talk briefly to the person who owned the table, and then turn around.  Billie held up two bracelets—the one she’d been looking at, and another, much smaller one.

“One for you, one for me.” She smiled at Gemma, who gasped with such excitement, that Tom had to laugh.  “If it’s okay with Tom that you have it.” Billie raised an eyebrow at him and he nodded, looking down.  Billie definitely had a way with kids—he’d give her that.  Besides the presents, she seemed to know what to say to Gemma.  Billie seemed totally at ease with her.  He leaned down, swinging Gemma off his shoulders in an easy swoop, setting her onto the pavement.  Gemma was practically vibrating with excitement as she held her arm out, waiting for Billie to put the bracelet on her.

“Oh my gosh. Look at it, Tommy! It’s the most beautimous thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Beautimous.” He heard Billie repeat Gemma’s mixed up word, her voice amused and somewhat delighted.  Billie looked up at Tom and they shared a laugh. 

“What do you say, rhino girl?” Tom placed a hand gently on Gemma’s shoulder.  She held out her tiny arm, marveling at the silver chain and the blue and green stones.

“Thank you, Billie.  Tom was right.  You are a mermaid.” She said, her voice breathless.  Tom coughed, caught off guard by his rather precocious, unable-to-keep-a-secret daughter.  He should had been prepared for anything that came out of his mouth to be, at some time, repeated by his little parrot.

“Oh? Tom calls me a mermaid?” Billie shot Tom an amused look, but then knelt down and held out her wrist.  Tom watched Gemma helped Billie put her bracelet on, her small, still baby-ish fingers struggling a bit with the lobster clasp.  He leaned down, gently taking the bracelet from Gemma after she didn’t quite have the coordination to pull off the tricky clasp.  He wrapped the bracelet around Billie’s slender wrist, his fingertips brushing gently across her skin as he did.

“Ah…” Tom shifted his weight, but Gemma kept talking.

“Yes.  He said you were a mermaid because of your beautiful hair.  Everyone has an animal.  You’re a mermaid.” Gemma reached forward, touching the long braid of white blond hair that had fallen over Billie’s shoulder.  She touched her with a familiarity mixed with awe that only children seemed to possess.  Tom finished hooking the bracelet, and then stood up, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting, not really sure what to say.  Billie stayed crouched down, smiling at Gemma.

“So your Dad thinks I have beautiful hair?” Billie asked softly, and then raised her eyes up to Tom.  He looked down at the two of them—Gemma with her dark hair and olive skin.  Billie with her light features. 

Gemma started giggling then.  “He’s not my dad. He’s my Tom.”

“Oh, right!” Billie corrected herself quickly.  Tom rocked back on his heels and held his breath.

“Well, he’s sort of like my dad.” Gemma shrugged and then reached back without looking, absently mindedly grabbing for Tom’s hand.  He reached forward, without talking, and took her tiny, searching hand.

“You’re right.  He is sort of like your dad.” Billie smiled as she stood up.  Tom caught her eye then, and they locked in on each other for a minute.  “So, Gemma, if I’m a mermaid, then what are you?” Billie asked, without breaking eye contact with Tom.  He kept his gaze on her, unable to break away.

“I’m a rhino.  Tom calls me a rhino girl.” Gemma said matter of factly.  Billie broke eye contact, smiling broadly and letting out a little laugh as she looked down at the small girl. 

“Rhino? Is that a nice name though?” She grinned and looked back up at Tom, who shrugged helplessly.

“Yes. Rhinos are the best!” Gemma jumped up, her excitement making her energetic.  “Tom says I’m like a rhino because I’m tough and I’m grumpy in the mornings, and I’m loud like one.” She nodded, looking satisfied with his choice of animal and descriptions.

“Grumpy in the mornings?” Billie smiled. 

“Indeed.  The worst.” Tom said softly, raising an eyebrow at Gemma, who just smiled widely at him.

“Do you want to watch fireworks with us?” He asked, a hand raising up and pushing through his hair.  He suddenly felt nervous, as if asking a girl out to a school dance.  Only this was just a friend—just Billie, and it was just fireworks, not a date.  Gemma let out a whooping noise, and started hopping up and down, hoping Billie would join them.

“Yes. Thank you.” She nodded.  He nodded as well.

“After fireworks, Rosie is having a cookout.  You can come to that too, Billie.  We eat hot dogs. Tom can eat four hot dogs.” Gemma offered.  Tom opened his mouth as if he was going to protest, but then closed it after a minute with a quick shrug.  Billie grinned down at her, and Tom started them walking down the boardwalk. 

“Well, that is an offer I can’t refuse.” Billie said, and then Tom watched as Gemma reached up and grabbed her hand.  He felt something roll and squeeze in his chest, but he pushed it back and they kept walking forward, a strangely mismatched, but comfortable, chain.

 

 ****

 

I sat down on the sand, next to Tom and handed him a beer, which he took with a heartfelt ‘thanks’.  The fireworks had been great.  In fact, the whole day had been great.  It was straight out of a movie—like the typical small town 4th of July.  Sparklers, fireworks, sno cones and cotton candy.  I haven’t been to a 4th of July like this in forever.  It just doesn’t feel the same in LA.  There’s no real way to bottle “small town”.  It either is, or it isn’t. 

“She did fine.  She’ll be okay.” I glance at him, giving him what I hope is a comforting smile.  I can tell he’s still a bit unsettled by the mini melt down Gemma had at the end of the fireworks.  Just the typical tired, hot, sugar filled five year old existential crisis.  He grunts softly and then takes a long drink from his bottle.

“She gets so excited and then, it just hits her—she’s exhausted and irritable, and all the sugar just makes her come crashing down.” He groaned and then laughed softly.  “She’s like the smallest, angriest drug addict in the world.  Gimme the sugar, man! I need the sugar!” He breaks into a sketchy, sort of American surfer accent, that’s both terrifying and hilarious.

“Is that your impersonation of a drug addict?” I laugh, taking a drink.  The beer is cold, refreshing.  A few yards up the beach, there’s a small fire going.  There’s still a few people around it, including Sam and Rachel.  Rosie has long gone to bed, taking Gemma with her—who was, by the end of the night, nearly furious with exhaustion in the way only littles kids can be.

“It’s bad, but yes.” Tom chuckles.

“She had a good day though, Tom.  Until the end.” I winced.  Tom shrugged and nodded.

“She cried last year during fireworks, but I thought it was because she ate all that cotton candy and threw up.  You’d think I would have learned my lesson by now.” He groaned, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his hands. 

“Hey, man, when the kid demands sugar…” I joke gently.  He grins and nods.

“I just want to give her whatever she wants, you know? I want her to have everything.  And it’s hard.  Because there are some things I literally can’t give her.” He gets quiet for a moment, lost in his own thoughts.  “So, if there’s something I can give her….like a 4th of July complete with fireworks and hot dogs and rainbow sno cones, then I’ll do whatever I can.” He finishes and then looks at me. 

He is such a good man.  And to be honest, also a seriously good looking man.  It has gotten to the point where it’s nearly distracting to be around him sometimes.  The sun from the day (and probably all the days at the beach), have driven his hair to this light brown color that is now illuminated like molten gold in the distant firelight.  He’s got these cheekbones that should have been nearly stark or harsh in their severity, but they are softened by his kind, careful blue eyes.  Crinkled at the corners from years of smiling and laughter. 

“You’re doing the right thing, Tom.  I don’t even know you two that well, and I can tell she just worships the ground you walk on.” I say softly, pushing the strange, cloudy feeling of lust from my thoughts.  It stays though, lingering in the tips of my breasts and in the gentle itch at my fingertips to touch him.

“Ah well.” He replies.

“It’s funny though, how excited she was for fireworks, and then they happen and she’s terrified.” I say with a smile.  Tom nods and takes another drink.

“Kids are funny that way, I guess?  Or people in general.  Kids just don’t hide it as well.  We want something so badly, and when we get it…we’re terrified and we don’t know what to do.” He sighs and raises his shoulders up to his ears, then shrugs.

“How long were you married to Becca?” I ask softly.  Earlier, after fireworks, while everyone was busy calming down Gemma and getting food on the grill, I had checked my messages.  More messages from Shorty, all begging me to release a statement soon.  I’d felt sick thinking about it, so this was a nice distraction.  Worry about someone else’s problems for a minute.

“Well, technically married to her for almost five years.  The divorce literally went through just a bit before you got here.” He turns and looks at me, an eyebrow raised.  I don’t hide my shock but then I wait.  “We were truly only married for about a year though.  Maybe year and a half.” He makes a face, as if testing his memory.

“What happened? What's your situation?" I ask.  He turns and sets his beer down in the sand.

“Are you writing a book about me?” He asks, and then grins.  “Or a song, perhaps?” I shake my head.

“Sorry.  I’m being nosy.  I think I just… need something to get my mind off things.” I answer truthfully.  He nods.

“Fair enough.  Well, Becca and I met in London.  She was there…doing god knows what, and we had…what you would call a whirlwind romance.  Five weeks later, we got married.  Three weeks after that, she told me she had to go home, back to America.  She took me with her, because what else was I going to do? And that’s when I met…her daughter, Gemma.  Who she’d given birth to, and then basically abandoned with Rosie right after.  Gemma was just over two months old when Becca brought me here.  It was the first time she’d ever mentioned Gemma.  The first time there was even a hint of…something not quite right with Becca.” He swallowed, and in the dim light, I could see the movement of his adam’s apple, the slow shake of his head.

“That’s pretty brutal.  She just left her new born baby?” I whisper.

“Yup.” Tom says, his voice sharp.  “Rosie was furious, of course.  She’d had no idea where Becca had been for the past 2 months.  I was just in shock.  It dawned on me rather quickly that I really didn’t know the woman I had just vow to love and cherish for the rest of my life.  But…we tried to make it work.  I said I’d stay in the US.  Gemma stayed with us sometimes, but often with Rosie.  It was Rosie who was already attached to her—and honestly, Becca had no real interest in caring for her.  And I felt… a bit like I didn’t belong.  I barely knew Becca.  I didn’t know Rosie.  And I definitely didn’t know this crying, helpless baby.”

“I would have left.” I bite my lip, brushing hair from my face as the wind picks up slightly.  Tom gives a short, humorless laugh and finishes off his beer.

“I did. I left many times, but Becca pulled me back.” He shakes his head. 

“I know the feeling.” I say softly.  He looked at me then, and waited.  It was interesting to be with someone who listened.  Someone who was completely involved in the conversation and not just waiting for their own turn to speak.  This is how Tom listened—now, sitting on a nearly deserted beach, and even when he was talking to his five year old not-quite-daughter.  Always listening.

“Who can’t you leave?” He asks, his voice direct and gentle.  I shrug and gulp my beer.

“Baby Darling.” I laugh.  He flashes a small, sad smile and then we both look forward, out over the ocean.  We’re quiet for a couple moments, both lost in our own thoughts.  The moon shines across the water, leaving a pathway of silver slivers on the ever moving water.

“Well, if you’re anything like me, you’ll get lucky.  I didn’t’ have to leave Becca.  She left me.” He says this simply, but there is pain behind his words.  I know he’s not in love with Becca anymore, but I also know it is never easy to fail in a relationship, or be the one who is left.

“Sounds like Becca’s loss to me.  I would have never, ever left if I were her.” I say quietly.  He doesn’t read more into this statement than necessary, and I’m glad for that.

“Yes, but that was sort of becca’s thing.  She was always leaving.  Always.  And if she’d never left in the first place, then…I may have never found Gemma.  And Rosie.  And Sam and Rachel.” He sits up straighter, bending his knees. 

“You’ve got a point there.”

“If you’re supposed to leave...leave behind Baby Darling, you’ll find a way.  Not all leaving is bad.  Just depends on if you leave running in the middle of the night, or waving goodbye in the sunshine.” He flashes a smile, and then leans over, bumping me gently in the arm.


	11. 10: childhood, her fault, a voice

 

It is hard to describe when things started to feel good again. Most likely because it happens so gradually, but still in a relatively short amount of time. It is amazing how easy it is to forget your problems, when you are thousands of miles away from them, and ignoring them every time they call or text.

I’ve immersed myself back into this world. The world of my childhood. It wasn’t always a great childhood, but it was a strangely safe one, for the most part. After my parents passed, an event that is more a serious of smudges and blurs than a real memory to me, Rachel and I were moved around for some time, through different foster homes. None of them were terrible like you hear in the worst horror stories, but it wasn’t exactly an Annie and Daddy Warbucks story either. I was seven, she was thirteen. We clung desperately together, only needing to be reassured that we would stay together. Lewes is a small community, so it wasn’t too hard. For the first few years, we were moved quite frequently.

I suppose it could have been traumatic, maybe it was in ways I haven’t quite figured out. It could have been a time full of damaging people and terrible events, but really, it was just a blur. Nothing terrible happened, but nothing all that good either. The terrible thing had already happened. The pain of losing my parents to a senseless act (a drunk driver), and the foggy state of moving from home to home, never finding a real place to settle, was confusing enough.

But once I hit ten, we settled in with a family, the Moore’s, where we stayed until I was seventeen, nearly eighteen and left to make music. The Moore’s consisted of John and Julia Moore, and their two daughters, Kendall and Marissa. They were a great family, and though we weren’t exactly treated like their daughters, we were treated well. Rachel and I were always reminded though, that we were the outsiders. That we didn’t quite belong.

When Rachel moved out at eighteen, started bartending at the touristy bars, and seriously dating Sam, I often begged her to take me with her. She needed her space though—needed to carve out her own spot in the world, and so I did too. Which is where I turned to music.

Rach and I still keep in touch with the Moore’s, though loosely, and even less so since they moved to upstate New York. We’ve always been our own family, small as we are.

“Hell, Bee, what the fuck?” Rachel threw a pillow across the room, and it sailed by, dangerously close to my head.

“What?!” I spun around in the kitchen, peering through the large opening where I could see my sister sitting on the couch.

“Have you talked to Shorty?” She asks, getting up off the couch, her phone lighting up in her hand as she thrusts it toward me. She’s too far away for me to read the screen, and I shrug, slowly stirring my coffee.

“Not in two weeks? Two and a half weeks?” I say, scrunching up my face.

“Well, now he’s texting and calling me.” She grumbles and pushes her phone into my hands.

_Hey Rachel. Can you talk to Baby for me? I’m freaking out over here, because we’ve got tour details to figure out and about three dozen requests for exclusive interviews. Oprah. The View. Ellen. Vogue. Elle. People. They all want her. I need to talk to her._

I read quickly, and then reread it.

“Yikes.” I whisper and chew nervously on my lip. It’s not fair that I’ve been ignoring and avoiding Shorty. It is his job after all—not only to manage my career, but also make sure it doesn’t totally go down the toilet. I’m not sure that I care all that much anymore.

“Who’s it going to be? I personally vote for Ellen. But if you’re gonna do paper then do Vogue.” She blinks rapidly at me, and I shake my head at her.

“Please.” I say with disgust. “I’m not talking to anyone.”

“But Baby Darling, Sam and I were thinking about getting a hot tub for the deck, and hoping you’d want to fund it. This is a perfect opportunity!” Rachel cackles, and I spin around, thumping her hard on the ass.

“If you’re serious about the hot tub, I’m all for it. But I don’t want their money. I don’t need their money.” I clunk my mug down onto the counter with a satisfying clang. Rachel crosses her arms over her chest and nods.

“I know. But you need to talk to Shorty.” She tilts her head, ever the boring voice of reason.

“I will.” I shrug. I pull my thin sweater up over my shoulder, where it keeps slipping off. Sam in coming down the stairs, and we both smile as he bursts into some half distracted song. Rachel keeps her eyes on me as we both grin, listening to him rummage around through the house, gathering things for his day. I scrunch my nose at her, and she does the same back. She’s so in love with him, it’s sickening.

“I got my period this morning.” She whispers, her hand moving up and pressing against her mouth. I lean a hip against the counter, trying to focus on what she’s saying.

“Guess we’ll try again next month.” She adds, and I hear the sadness in her voice. But it is nothing compared to the look in her eyes. I frown, feeling a surprising deep, heartbreaking tug in my chest. I know they’ve been trying for some time to get pregnant. But it just hasn’t happened yet.

“Don’t give up, Rach. Have you been to the doctor?” I whisper, reaching forward and rubbing her arms. She nods yes and looks away, chewing on her lip in the same way I do sometimes. I see her chin quiver slightly, and then Sam is there. He comes into the kitchen, all bright humming and jaunty demeanor, having no idea what he’s walked into. Rachel straightens up immediately, her face changing like night to day.

“Have a good day, babe!” She smiles at Sam, stepping up to her tiptoes in order to give him a kiss.

“You too, artist woman. Bee you coming with?” He returns Rachel’s smile, and another kiss.

“Yes.” I say, feeling the heaviness still in my chest. I search for Rachel’s eyes again, but she won’t make contact.

“Singing?” He asks. I shrug. I still haven’t sung. I’ve been hanging out at the college with him, usually two or three times a week, for the past few weeks, but I haven’t been able to sing. I’ve played with them—mostly piano but guitar as well. The students I’ve seen, and even worked with have all be amazing. Excited and enthralled and surprisingly chill about me being there. Only on the first day did I have one girl start crying a bit, and another shaking so badly that she had to leave the room for a moment before she could come back to play.

I have no delusions about my celebrity. I know I’m not the best musician or singer in the world. I’ve had enough people tell me they think I’m crap and nothing special. But I understand how fame works. It’s an animal all of it’s own. It’s not really me they are reacting too—it’s the idea of me. The Baby Darling they’ve seen on television and in magazines. That’s what they’re reacting too. I don’t mind it. I understand it, as I’ve done it many times myself, and still do. The good thing is, once the studio sessions have ended, and we’ve all talked and worked through some things, I can see them relax. The fame façade starts to fall, and I start to become just Bee. And not so much Baby. Sometimes this works. Sometimes, the shaky hands don’t ever quite go away.

 ****

 

“She’s a little sharp. And she needs to stop singing from her nose.” I whisper to Sam, who nods silently, his hands rubbing the three days growth on his face. We are sitting in the booth at the small recording studio in the college. It’s not the most state of the art place, but it’s decent. And it does the job. A lot of these kids have never recorded anything, save for on their iPhones or computers, so it’s fun to introduce them to sound mixing and production. Sam is an awesome teacher and a great mentor—relaxed enough to put the nervous students at ease, but with good insight and ideas to keep everyone motivated.

“Helena, you’ve got to open up. Breathe from your diaphragm. And you’re doing the thing with your teeth again.” Sam clicks in, speaking into her sound proof booth. Helena is 19, very shy and also has the voice of an angel. When she stops singing through her nasal cavity, that is. Helena gives Sam the thumbs up and then they begin again.

We both listen as she begins to sing. I’m sitting farther away from the sound board, on a small couch against the wall. Sam is in his big, rolly “producer” chair, his brow furrowed in concentration as he listens. We’ve been working all afternoon, and this is the third student that has come through.

“When she’s done, we have the studio for an hour, Bee. Want to get in there? It’ll just be us.” Sam looks over his shoulder at me, where I’ve curled up on the couch, enjoying Helena’s voice. I clench my jaw, freezing at his suggestion.

“I don’t have anything to sing.” I say lamely. Sam laughs then, giving me an absurd look.

“You’ve got how many albums? Pick one, kid.” He turns back and focuses on Helena as she finishes up.

“Awesome, Helena. Come on out.” He calls into the mic, and Helena smiles, removing her headphones. She leaves the soundproof booth, looking excited.

Sam spends the next ten minutes or so reviewing the recording she just finished. They talk about the sound, and things that Helena wants to change or improve. Occasionally one of them will ask my opinion, which I give without trying to be too intrusive. When Helena packs up and leaves, Sam turns to me with one eyebrow raised.

“So what’s the deal? Are you afraid to sing or are you boycotting the whole thing?” He looks at me with understanding, but amused eyes. I shrug my shoulders, feeling my sweater slip off to one side. I feel a little sweaty, and my palms are clammy. I sit forward on the sofa, nervously squeezing my hands together.

“I’m not sure…it’s what I want to do anymore.” I say softly. His face falls, but then he sits back and waits. I shake my head, feeling my voice caught in my throat. Sam sighs and then turns in his chair, flicking a few switches on the soundboard before turning back around.

“You can’t let this kill you, Bee. I know it’s shit, but you’ve got to find a way to get above it.” He says gently. I take a deep breath.

“I know. It’s just…I don’t even know who I am anymore. And everyone else seems to know me so well. Or whatever version of me they have in their head. I don’t feel like it’s even mine at this point.” I watch Sam, and I know he understands me. Authenticity is important to him, always has been. I’ve offered multiple times in the past to help him out—to get him into studios in LA, and let him work with producers I know. He’s always declined, because he’s happy doing what he’s doing. Making music for himself. Playing the occasional show around town. Teaching music to kids.

“You’ve got to reclaim that then. Billie, you’re still one of – if not _the_ most successful pop artist right now. You’ve still got so many resources and people on your side. We have this opportunity right now. It’s just you and me in this room. If you want to try something out, if you want to record it, then we can record it. It could be the next great American record, or it could just be you making noises with your mouth. I don’t care.” He laughs softly, and I can’t help joining in.

“What I’m trying to say is, you can’t let this kill you. You’re a singer, a musician—you always have been, always will be. The shitty fame machine, the industry, the sex tape…all of it can go to hell. But you can’t deny what you are. Don’t let them win.” He pounds his hands on the table top, grinning at the dramatic effect. I sit back, crossing my arms over my chest.

“That was quite a speech.” I say with a grin. “You should be an actor.”

“I wasn’t acting. I’m being serious.” He stands up and walks over to where I’m sitting, a hand outstretched. I stare at his hand, but I don’t take it. Sam groans and sits down next to me, leaning forward like I am.

“Shitty stuff happens all the time, Bee. I get it.” He looks at me, and I catch his eye. I can still remember what he looked like when he was seventeen. Nearly the same, but softer, more eager.

“I don’t mean to be such a downer.” I say with a stifled laugh. He grins and shrugs.

“You know how Rach and I have been…trying to get pregnant?” He says softly, and I turn quickly, looking at him. I nod.

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s just not happening for us. We’re trying to figure out what to do, but I can tell she’s getting really…upset by it. I am too. But, god, what it does to her every month.” His voice is sad, tinged with something I’m not sure I can even quite understand. “She thinks it’s her fault…” His voice breaks and he stops talking, and I can physically see himself try to pull it together.

“I’m sorry, Sam. You guys will be amazing parents one day. Rachel will get through this…she has you.” I pat his arm gently.

“I know you’ve reached a point, and you’ve been going through some really tough stuff, Bee. Stuff I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy--” He looks forward and takes a deep breath.

“If you had enemies.” I quip with a quick smile. He smirks.

“But you can’t give up. If you’re not getting what you want, what you need, then you need to look for alternate solutions. The first path isn’t always the only path. It might be the easiest, or the most obvious, but it’s not the only one. Rach and I…we’ll keep trying though. Hell, I’ll try as much as she wants—morning, afternoon…” He trails off, and I laugh, rolling my eyes.

“Thanks, Sam. You have a point.” I manage, pressing a hand over my mouth, my mind spinning.

“Do what you want, you know? You’ve had enough people telling you what to do the last few years. Do what you want for once.” He smacks my knee and stands up, walking back over to the rolly chair as he runs a hand through his hair.

“But, if you are looking for someone to tell you what to do…here it is. Get in there, and start making noise.” He turns around and points sternly at the booth, a mock angry look on his face. I shake my head, but I can’t help but smile. What he’s said about him and Rachel, and what I’ve gone through, it rolls around in my thoughts as I slowly make my way into the glass booth.

I take a minute, looking around. It’s a small booth, and obviously well used by students. But it feels familiar. It feels strangely like home. A brief calm washes over me and I walk over to the mic and pick up the headphones sitting on the stool. The complete silence. The low lighting. I feel alone, though I can make out Sam’s face just outside the booth, sitting behind the sound board. He’s not watching me now, but looking down, hitting switches as he readies the sound.

“Bee? What do you want me to start with?” His voice comes through the headphones, loud and clear. I lean back against the stool and take a deep breath, in then out.

“I’m just going to sing for a minute. I’m going to be a little rusty. Can you just start me off?” I ask into the mic, my voice sounding in the silent booth. Sam gives me the ‘okay’ sign, and then I hear a few melodic notes start through the headphones. I sway for a minute, waiting to find the voice that I think is still somewhere inside of me. It’s been lying dormant, smothered by trauma and humiliation and isolation, but I know it is still there.

When I start singing, it feels cathartic. Like some sort of dam has been broken. I don’t know even know what I’m singing at first—a warm up of sorts, and then I slowly move into broken bits of my songs, and songs I’ve had swimming in my head the past month. It is raw, rough and unpolished. I’m slightly breathless, and I can feel the power of the sound through my chest, resonating through my limbs. There are a few moments where I’m sure that I must sounds like some sort of dying animal.

But the truth is, I feel a bit like a part of me is dying. A parasitic, weakened, diseased part of me. I sing and sing, and then I grow quiet.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been in there, but my body is humming and my heart is pounding in my chest and ears. I’ve had my eyes closed, or unfocused, staring straight ahead. The silence takes back over, and I realize that Sam hasn’t said a word. When I turn to look out of the glass booth to where Sam is, I see that he’s not alone. Tom is behind him, sitting on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward on his knees, his face intent on me. I’m surprised to him, and I feel myself tense.

I flush, knowing that I should probably feel embarrassed, or at least anxious that I just sang my heart out after over a month of silence, in front of my brother in law, and a man I hardly know. I pull the headphones off, and take a deep breath. Sam is just staring at me, his hands hovering over switches as if frozen. Tom hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch and I am suddenly nervous, and wondering how badly I truly sounded.

“Was it that bad?” I ask, reaching back to lean against the stool. There’s a moment of silence, and then Sam clicks in.

“That was amazing, Bee. Seriously.” He says, his voice somewhat dazed. I frown, and then quickly leave the booth. Sam and Tom both spring to their feet as I step out. I look at Sam, frowning, and then glance at Tom.

“What are you doing here?” I ask sharply.

“I was looking for Sam.” He says quickly. He’s holding his arms rigidly at his side, and I am almost certain there’s something they are trying to hide from me. I look back at Sam, who is just staring at me, a blank look on his face.

“What? Just tell me, Sam. How bad was I? I can’t sing. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” I shake my head, balling my hands into fists.

“Don’t sugar coat it. I need the truth right now.” I demand. It isn’t Sam that steps forward though, it’s Tom. He looks down at me with those sea blue eyes, and he presses his hands together as if in prayer.

“Billie, you were phenomenal. You’re the most stunning thing I have ever heard.” He says, his voice low and almost grave. I swallow hard, and look up at his face. He gives me a small smile, barely playing on his lips, and I find myself suddenly fighting the urge to kiss him. It’s not all that surprising a feeling. I take a step back, and feel my heart pound against my chest.

“Listen to the man, Bee. And then go get back in that booth and do it again.” Sam quips from somewhere behind Tom. The funny thing is, I can hear Sam, and I know he’s back there…but my entire focus is on Tom. The way he’s looking at me. The fact that he just called me…my voice ‘stunning’. The fact that I don’t mind at all that he was there to see me crumble and break through. I look up at him and smile.

“Will you stick around?” I ask softly. Tom’s face softens, and he gives me a wide, brilliant smile that he usually reserves for someone much smaller and younger than I am.

“Yes. Please.” He nods.

 


	12. 11: sand crabs, spaghetti, stay

Tom sat back, digging his feet into the hot sand. He glanced up at Gemma, making sure that she wasn’t going too far into the surf. She sat down on the hard packed wet sand, and started digging rather ferociously through the sand.

“I’m going to find you a crab. We can name him ‘Tom’.” She said over her shoulder, and then went back to digging. Tom smiled, and shook his head. It was a Monday afternoon. Surprisingly, he’d managed the day off. No classes, no bar. The weather was perfect—hot, but with a great breeze coming off the ocean.

After his morning run, he’d gone to Rosie’s to invite them both to the beach. Rosie had declined, as he knew she would. She still got around easily, and was pretty active, but she didn’t often spend a lot of time out in the hot sun. Gemma, of course, had been ecstatic about a beach day, as if it weren’t something they did on a pretty regular basis. It was free, fun, and wore her out. All things that Tom enjoyed. He’d then told Rosie that he’d keep Gemma for the night, if it was okay with her. Rosie had happily agreed, saying that a night of peace and quiet sounded good. She had her shows to catch up on.

They had started it recently, within the last few months. Tom had been hesitant at first, but when it looked like the adoption would go through, he’d been more willing. Gemma would spend the night once or twice a week at his house. Usually Rosie would come over for dinner, and stay to help put her to bed, and then leave after a cup of tea. They had been doing it more frequently, now that things were official. He knew it was a comfort to Rosie. Knowing that he would always be there to take care of Gemma. He never wanted to take Gemma away from Rosie, that had been agreed to from the start. But Rosie knew that she was older, and who knew what would happen if she ever got sick or couldn’t take care of Gemma. It was a very real possibility.

“You can’t name a crab ‘Tom’! That’s crazy!” Tom shouted down toward Gemma, who turned back and gave him a look as if he were the insane one before turning around to focus on what she was doing. He settled onto the blanket, enjoying the warmth of the sun as he scanned the beach. It was pretty empty today, though there were a few families and sunbathers that dotted the stretch of sand.

He reached into the book bag he’d brought, packed with water and snacks for Gemma, and pulled out an old paper back he’d been painstakingly trying to get through. Lack of time and lack of sleep, lately, had kept him from having much time to read, or really relax at all. Today was a god send.

“You’ve got to dig deeper. They swim in the waves and then dig in the sand.” Gemma’s voice carried, and Tom looked up to see who she was talking to.

Billie was on her hands and knees next to Gemma, digging in the wet sand like some sort of puppy. From where he was sitting, he could see the top of her white blond head, and the sunkissed tops of her shoulders. Both Gemma and Billie were intently focused on digging small holes, searching for the illusive sand crabs.

Tom stood up and made his way down to where they were sitting.

“I see she’s recruited you.” He said, stopping just in front of them. Billie looked up, her face bright and happy. She sat back on her heels then, revealing her simple black bikini. Tom felt the need to look away, so he focused instead on his daughter. Gemma was covered in sand, but completely oblivious.

“I used to be amazing at finding sand crabs.” Billie said, scooping up handfuls of wet sand as a wave crashed behind them. It was far enough away, that by the time it washed up the shore, it was just a cool rush of water around their legs.

“And?” Tom raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a little rusty, I guess.” Billie raised a hand up to shield her eyes so she could see him. Tom put his hands on his hips, their eyes meeting.

“She hasn’t found any yet. I found three. One was dead so I threw it over there.” Gemma pointed over to the side, and sure enough, about five feet away there was the tiny, clump shape of a dead crab.

“Well. There you have it.” Billie grinned.

“Would you like some help, Gems?” Tom asked, daring to look back at Billie. Her hair wasn’t in a braid, like she normally wore it. It was free, long and twirling around her slender shoulders. It stood out against her skin, which was newly bronzed by the sun, freckles dotting her shoulders and the bridge of her nose. He couldn’t help but notice her bikini. It was just a wide strip of material that covered her breasts, and then low rise bottoms that sat just so against her hips. He looked quickly back at Gemma.

“Yes. You look over there, and I’ll stay here with Billie.” Gemma ordered, pointing down closer to where the waves broke.

“Ah, I see. I’m the B Squad.” Tom said, raising an eyebrow at Billie, who laughed and shrugged. He quickly pulled his shirt up over his head, tossing it toward the blanket, and then settled in behind and to the side of where Gemma and Billie were digging.

He hadn’t seen Billie since the day he’d heard her sing. But jesus, he hadn’t stopped thinking about her. It had been quite a day. He’d stopped by, looking for Sam, and he’d been immediately stunned into silence. The sight of Billie, headphones on, clearly lost in song, had completely taken him off guard. Sam didn’t say anything to Tom when he walked in, but motioned for him to stop, and not speak. She couldn’t hear him, but Sam was obviously afraid that she’d notice Tom, and get thrown off.

So, Tom had taken a seat, and tried to remain as still as possible. Which wasn’t all that hard. She was mesmerizing. Her eyes stayed closed for the majority of it, and when she did open them, he could tell she was far away. Lost. Her voice was heartbreaking, raw with emotion. Just in that moment, she’d seemed open, vulnerable. He’d never heard anyone sing like that, ever. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. About her.

But here she was, digging in the sand next to Gemma, returned back to the private, guarded woman he’d come to get to know. Sort of. She didn’t say much, but he listened as she chatted easily with the little girl. She mostly let Gemma do the talking.

“I’m going to kindergarten soon.” Gemma turned from her knees, sitting on her butt and playing with the water pooling in the small holes by her sides.

“Are you excited?” Billie asked. Tom looked up, listening and watching as he idly dug through the sand. Billie was still on her hands and knees, and he could see her looking at Gemma. Gemma was focused on the water by her sides, but would glance at Billie every once in a while.

“Yes. Tom says that I’ll learn all kinds of things. And I’ll make new friends.” Gemma grinned and then looked over at Tom, who pretended to be completely focused on digging. “Tom is my only friend. Besides Rosie.” Gemma’s voice was much quieter when she said this.

Tom had to press his lips together to keep from saying anything, but he felt her words hit him right in the chest. It was true. Gemma didn’t get to see many other children. He didn’t know any other people with small children. Gemma spent most of her time with Rosie, since he was often working. While Rosie was more than amazing with Gemma, they didn’t often leave the house or go much farther than the beach or town for groceries. He wished he had more time to take her to play groups, or to find other kids her age, but he just couldn’t. He listened as Gemma spoke openly to Billie, finding it interesting that she so easily confided in her.

“I’m sure you’ll make a lot of friends, Gemma. And I bet you Tom and Rosie are the best sort of friends to have, right?” Billie said gently, and when Tom looked up, she gave him a quick smile.

“Yes. But sometimes Tom makes me eat broccoli. And one time he yelled at me because I got lost.” Gemma groaned and rolled her eyes, then looked at Billie. Tom stopped digging, and took a deep breath. Ah, the time Gemma “got lost” or…wandered down to the beach on her own, while Tom frantically searched for her, screaming her name and imagining hundreds of terrible scenarios in his head. He found her quickly, sitting under the lifeguard’s chair in the sand, smiling sweetly and wondering why he was red in the face and near to tears. That had been six months ago. It had been one of the first times Gemma had stayed at his house over night, and he’d never forget the terror he felt.

“Broccoli is good for you. And you didn’t get lost, you wandered away without telling me where you were going, little lady.” Tom quipped, crawling through the sand toward where they were sitting. Billie watched him, an amused look on her face.

“I won’t do it again.” Gemma shrugged as if it obvious. “I’m hungry.” She stood up then, still covered in sand and waited for Tom to help her.

“We need to rinse you off, you sand monster. Then you can have some snacks.” He stood up quickly, scooping Gemma up in his arms, feeling the grittiness against his skin. He carried Gemma out into the surf, bracing against the small crashing waves. Billie joined them a moment later, sucking in her cheeks and yelping as the cold water hit her legs and thighs. Tom glanced over at her, watching as she held her breath, her flat stomach pulling in as if running from the water. Her skin was covered in goose bumps, and she looked over at Tom, wrapping her slender arm around his as they walked forward.

“That’s cold!” She laughed. He nodded, all too aware of the way she was holding his arm.

Gemma squealed when Tom lifted her under the arms and dipped her into the water. He pulled her back up as a bigger wave came, crashing and hitting him and Billie against the legs and stomach.

“It feels good, right?” Tom grinned, as Gemma shook her head.

“Too cold.” She squealed. Tom dipped her down one more time, telling her to brush herself off as he did. Gemma screeched, kicking her legs out as Tom held onto her.

“Get the sand off, Gems!” Billie laughed, and she reached over and helped to scoop water onto Gemma’s arms and stomach. Gemma was alternating between laughing and yelling, while Tom kept her just high enough to keep her mostly out of the water.

“Alright, alright.” Tom pulled her up, tucking her under his arm. A wave broke just by them, crashing against them as they started to make their way toward the shore. Billie yelped, stumbling against the wave, and Tom reached out, steadying her with one hand as he gripped Gemma with the other.

“Thanks.” Billie said quickly, reaching down and adjusting her bikini bottom, as if making sure it was still there.

“Gems is sleeping over tonight. Aunt Rosie needed a break.” He chuckled. “Would you like to come over for dinner? It’s just spaghetti.” He shrugged casually. He watched Billie’s face as he asked, trying to read her. She was good at hiding her emotions though, keeping them guarded right beneath the surface. Her eyes widened slightly, and she smiled.

“Noodles!” Gemma exclaimed, her teeth chattering from the cold. Billie leaned down, washing her hands off in the rushing water. Tom couldn’t help but look, even if briefly. The smooth, polished skin on her shoulders, that led down to her clavicle, freckled and tan from the sun. It dipped down to the small swell of her breasts, covered by her top, but quite evident as she leaned over, her arms pressing against her chest.

“I’d love to. Thank you. Can I bring anything?” Billie asked, standing up. They started back toward the beach.

“Ice cream.” Gemma said, suddenly very serious. Tom shot her a look.

“No, you don’t need to bring anything.” He shook his head, apologizing silently for Gemma. Billie shrugged, and reached over as Tom set Gemma onto the blanket. He watched as Billie grabbed an extra towel and threw it around Gemma’s shoulders, drying her off.

“Well, if someone wants ice cream, I should probably bring ice cream.” Billie said with a smile. She slipped the towel over Gemma’s head, gently patting and squeezing the water out of her unruly hair. Tom sighed and reached over, shaking gently and then tickling Gemma, who started laughing immediately.

“I’ll see what I can do, Gemma.” Billie smiled, watching as Gemma launched herself onto Tom’s back when he relented.

 

 ****

 

When Tom got home from the beach, he rushed around the house, trying to straighten up while also managing to get Gemma bathed. When she was clean, and dressed in shorts and a tshirt, he plopped her on his bed with the telly on, and took a quick shower himself. He felt anxious—nervous in a good way. It was absurd really.

Billie wasn’t a permanent thing. She was passing through. She was Rachel’s sister. Sam’s sister-in-law. A bloody celebrity. But it somehow didn’t matter. He wanted to know her—he needed to know her. It was selfish and most likely stupid, but being friends with someone was fine, right? No harm done? He didn’t often lie to himself, but could recognize very easily when he was.

He quickly changed into a tshirt and shorts, and then got started on dinner. Gemma buzzed around him, just as excited as he was that they were having company over.

“Gemma, darling, I’m going to trip over you. Please!” Tom groaned and then laughed as Gemma attached herself to one of his long legs. He picked her up, swinging his leg and she hung on like some sort of little leech. This went on for some time, as Tom set the table, and cleaned up the kitchen. He made her switch to the other leg halfway through.

At half past six, there was a soft knock on the front door.

“She’s here!” Gemma exclaimed from the family room. She had stopped clinging to him, and had been quietly playing with dolls while Tom had finished chopping tomatoes and throwing bread in the oven.

“I’ll get it, Gemma. I answer the door, remember?” He shot her a look, and Gemma nodded solemnly. They were still working on the whole ‘listening to rules’ thing, but she was getting better by the day. Well, most days.

Tom wiped his hands quickly on a dish towel, and then made his way to the door. Oh course, Billie had been over before, but this felt different. More real.

He took a deep breath, checking his reflection in the small hall mirror, noticing the infuriating way his hair curled by his ears due to the humidity, and then opened the door.

She was wearing light colored linen pants, that sat low on her hips. A simple white tshirt hung off one shoulder, skimming gently across her chest and waist. She had pulled her hair back, and it lay in curly, messy waves over her shoulder.

“Ice cream. Rocky road and mint chocolate chip. I hope that’s okay.” She lifted up a bag, and was met with squeals of delight from Gemma. Gemma rushed forward and threw herself around Billie’s legs, hugging her while also trying to look into the bag.

“Thank you, you didn’t need to do that.” Tom held the door open, letting her in.

“Mint chocolate chip is my favorite. It’s green!” Gemma said. Billie took the little girl’s hand, and let her lead her toward the kitchen. Tom took a deep breath, and then followed them into the other room.

A little over two hour later, dinner had been prepared and devoured happily. There had only been one incident of spilled milk, but other than that, the night had gone off without a hitch. Billie had admitted to Tom, halfway through her second helping of pasta, that she hadn’t had pasta in months, if not years, and that this was the best pasta she could ever remember having. He had a feeling it had to do with lack of carbs, but he was glad she was enjoying it. There was something strangely wonderful about watching her eat. She did so as if she was fully enjoying, savoring each bite.

“I’ve gained seven pounds since I’ve been back. It’s horrible.” She sighed, but then pulled out another crust of French bread. Tom just smiled at her, and tried not to let his eyes linger on the curves of her hips. He didn’t need to think about how lovely she’d feel underneath him, how much he’d like to hold those curves in his hands, grip his fingers against her softness.

After dinner, Gemma had asked to watch her favorite movie—a movie that contained a talking snow man and some ridiculously catchy songs. She settled in on the couch with a tiny bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream, while Billie helped Tom with the dishes. They made a good team—Billie cleared and scraped while Tom rinsed and put in the washer. Their hands brushed a few times, but Tom brushed all thoughts from his mind that didn’t have to do with being…just friends.

They worked in silence, the movie in the other room acting as a soundtrack. He could hear Billie humming along every now and again, and halfway through one duet about falling in love, Tom had grabbed a spoon and began singing loudly, and rather off key into it.

Billie laughed, and then danced around him, joining in where she could. Tom grabbed her hand, twirling her around the small kitchen, bumping into the counter and the fridge. Billie shimmied next to him, letting him take the lead as they both laughed.

“You’re ruining it!” Gemma yelled from the other room, but in an instant, she joined them in the kitchen, jumping and dancing. Billie grabbed her small hands, lifting her up briefly and then spinning her around. Tom kept singing, belting out the lyrics to the children’s song that he’d heard dozens of times.

Gemma continued twirling around the kitchen, singing in her high pitched little voice. Billie was laughing so hard, she was nearly doubled over. Tom had slid down on his knees, bending back and singing loudly as the song ended rather dramatically. Gemma soon lost interest in Tom, and wandered back into the family room.

“Tough crowd tonight.” Tom raised an eyebrow, slowly getting up off the floor and setting his spoon-microphone back on the counter.

“Apparently she’s seen the Tom Show before and she wasn’t impressed.” Billie smiled, and reached over, smoothing down the hem of Tom’s shirt in the back, where it had slid up. It was a surprisingly intimate gesture, one that was not lost on Tom.

“You don’t like my singing, love?” Tom shouted good naturedly into the family room. Gemma walked back into the kitchen, shrugging. She had her bowl of ice cream, and was slowly finished the nearly melted ice cream.

“She’s better.” Gemma pointed at Billie. Tom pretended to act wounded, but walked over and ruffled Gemma’s dark hair, which he knew she couldn’t stand. She yelped and swatted his hands away, hitting him with her sticky spoon.

“Oh look at that! Time for bed!” Tom said, pointing to his watchless wrist. Gemma frowned and shook her head.

“Just a little longer? Please!”

“Five minutes.” Tom pressed his lips together.

“Five minutes.” Gemma nodded. Tom smiled and glanced at Billie who was grinning. They both knew Gemma didn’t quite grasp the concept of ‘five minutes’, but it was adorable that she was trying. Tom reached down and patted Gemma on the butt, sending her off toward the family room so they could finish cleaning up.

“Can I sleep over tomorrow? Billie could sleep over too.” Gemma asked, turning around at the doorway to the kitchen. Tom coughed loudly, nearly choking on…air. He pushed his hands into his pockets and then shook his head, a bit too hard. Billie was quiet, though he could see the reddish flush at the base of her neck and across one shoulder.

“I’ve got to work at the bar tomorrow, darling. I wish you could, you know that. You’ve got to stay with Rosie tomorrow.” He crouched down, reaching forward and taking Gemma gently by the arms. Gemma pouted for a moment but then nodded.

“You always work.” She said, her voice quiet. Tom was silent for a moment and then he picked her up, hugging her to him as he walked her back out into the family room.

“I know, love. But it won’t always be like this. I wish I could spend all my time with you.” He said softly. Gemma wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek, just as he moved and kissed her on the forehead. He dropped her onto the couch with a cartoon-like sound effect, which made Gemma laugh, and then made sure she was settled back in for a few more minutes.

He went back into the kitchen, where Billie was wiping down the counter. He shrugged slightly, suddenly feeling a bit tired, and weary. They finished cleaning up, and then Tom asked if Billie would like some tea.

“Yes, that would be great.” She nodded. Tom smiled and then started filling the kettle. He pulled two mugs out of the cabinet, and dug through a basket over the fridge, offering up various types of tea to Billie.

She picked out a thai rooibos that smelled like ginger and cinnamon, and Tom picked an earl grey. They stood, hip to hip at the counter, waiting quietly for the water to boil, the cartoon movie playing in the background.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Billie asked, looking at Tom over her shoulder. He looked down at her, noticing just how much shorter she was in her flip flops, him in his bare feet.

“Sure.” He nodded, and glanced out through the kitchen, into the family room to check on Gemma. She was perched on the edge of the couch, totally absorbed.

“Why _do_ you work so much? I know it’s not cheap to live here, but…you work full time at the college and you bartend several nights a week. I know it’s not what you want to be doing. So why?” The kettle started to sing, and he reached past her, his arm brushing her stomach, as he turned off the stove.

“Sorry.” He said softly. He felt that familiar rock in his stomach, heavy and burdensome whenever someone mentioned how much he worked. How much he hated spending so much time away from Gemma. Billie must have read his expression, because when Tom looked up at her a moment later, she was flushing pink and splotchy along her neck and on her cheeks.

“I’m sorry. That was really…rude of me.” She turned away from him quickly, and started readying their mugs for hot water. Tom took a second, to pull himself together, to stop the wild slamming of his heart against his chest, and to clear his thoughts. He walked over, and leaned up against the counter next to Billie, leaving enough space between them so that he felt he could still think clearly. When he got too close, all he could focus on was the freckles on her shoulders, and the way he wasn’t sure if it was the cinnamon tea, or her hair that smelled so good.

“I’m in a lot of debt.” He said softly, looking down at his hands as he did. It wasn’t an easy thing for him to talk to, especially not to a woman he barely knew—a woman who mystified him. Billie stopped cutting the fruit, and looked over at him, the blush on her cheeks fading.

“Oh?” She asked, her brow furrowed.

“Technically, not my debt.” Tom swept a hand through his hair and crossed his arms over his chest. It wasn’t particularly easy to talk about. In fact, it was rather emasculating at times. To admit that he worked and worked and worked, and still could barely make ends meet at the end of the month. He knew it wasn’t his fault, really, but still it was frustrating. It still made him feel sick to his stomach.

“What do you mean?” Billie turned to him then, mimicking the way he was standing, her hip against the counter, her arms crossed under her breasts.

“Becca. Before she left, she went on a bit of a spree. With my cards—all of them, to be more precise. So…that’s my reality at the moment. I need to do whatever I can to pay it off. And then find a way to save and provide for Gemma for the future.” He looked away, his jaw clenched. Billie was quiet, her eyes never leaving him. She didn’t say anything, didn’t make any noise.

“How could she do that? I don’t even want to know how much…” She breathed after a beat, her voice soft and disgusted. Tom looked at her, and was momentarily blown away by her expression. It wasn’t pity, but more anger, and a clear disgust.

“I ask that about a lot of her decisions.” Tom said and then flashed a quick, joyless smile. He leaned forward, gently touching Billie’s arm. Her skin was warm, silky soft, and she leaned into him slightly when he touched her.

“Don’t worry about it, Billie. Gems and I are happy. I work a lot, but…you know, so do a lot of people. Rosie helps where she can. We’re not all that bad.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back, a small, sad smile.

“I know you’re not. You’re fantastic.” She grinned then, and took a step, if barely noticeable, closer to him. But Tom noticed. God, did he notice.

“If things go alright, I’ll have it paid off by the time Gemma is…in highschool. And then we’ll look into loans and such for university. The real problem, to be honest, is her rather worrisome addiction to those cat cookies. You saw how expensive they are, and she just can’t stop.” He smiled, and chuckled softly, and Billie grinned and reached forward. She reached up and gently pressed her hand against his jaw. Tom froze, feeling the way her fingers pressed against his cheek, the soft rub of her thumb against his cheekbone. She stroked him gently, and then leaned in toward him.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Tom. I shouldn’t say this but I..I can’t stop thinking about you.” Her words were soft, but Tom could hear only her. Her voice would haunt him.

“You haven’t left my mind since the morning we met.” He replied, finding his voice. Billie smiled then, the corner of her berry stained lips turning upward.

“Ah, I wonder why. I left quite an impression.” She scoffed jokingly and looked away. Tom smiled, shook his head, and then took a step forward, closing the space between them. Billie’s hands moved to his chest, pressed between them as Tom gathered her in his arms.

“It was your hair. Your beautiful, breathtaking hair. And your eyes…the color of the sky after it rains. And your lips…” He leaned down, and could feel her against him, her breathing shallow and halting. "And the way you smile even when you're sad. And how I'd do anything to make you smile for real." She was staring up at him, her eyes half closed and heavy lidded. Tom slid his hand down her back, resting at the small of her waist, his eyes searching her face for any indication of displeasure. He found the exact opposite.

“Kiss me. Please. I’m tired of dreaming about it.” She whispered, her breath warm against his mouth.   Tom pulled her close, and leaned forward, tilting her back as he kissed her. Her mouth was exactly as he’d thought it would be—impossibly soft, sweet, yielding to him. He felt her breath him in, and he did the same, aching to taste her, to absorb as much of her as possible. He couldn’t get enough.

Billie sighed, and slid her hands up his chest, and around his neck. Her hands pushed through the hair at the back of his head, and then pressed against him. She felt so small and delicate in his arms, but she moved against him with strength and urgency. Their mouths fit together perfectly, and Tom slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, exploring her. The soft, aching noise she made, made him throb. Bloody hell, he was two seconds away from taking her on the kitchen counter, nevermind the five year old only twenty some feet away.

“I’ve got to put Gemma to bed.” Tom broke away, his forehead resting against Billie’s. They were both breathing heavily, her breasts flattened against his chest, his hands on her hips. She nodded.

“Stay?” He asked softly, before he could think too much about what he was asking. She responded immediately, her nod fast and sure. It was all he needed.

“Give me twenty minutes.” He pulled away from her, his hand coming to cover hers. Billie smiled, reached up and touched her lips. He leaned forward, kissed her briefly, which made her laugh. Her laugh against his mouth was like heaven on earth. He leaned forward, but Billie pushed back.

“Go.” She gave him a gentle shove, and then watched as he ran out into the family room, roaring loudly like some sort of bear, scooping Gemma into his arms as she shrieked and giggled loudly.


	13. 12: priorities, last meal, bucket list

I feel like a teenager.  Giddy with the effects of Tom’s lingering kiss.  I walk around his family room, trying to calm myself, trying to relax and talk myself out of running straight out the front door.  But it’s the sort of thing where you’re smiling, and you can’t stop.  I look over his bookcases…mostly classic literature, serious looking tomes leatherbound in muted colors, but every once in awhile there’s a brightly colored slender book.  Dr. Seuss. Shel Silverstein. Goodnight Moon.  I smile more, running my fingers over the spines of the books.

I hadn’t meant to spend the day with them.  I’d decided to take a day away from the college.  All my free time was spent there lately—mostly in the studio, workshopping with students. Sometimes Sam and I would play around with some of our own music, new and old. He’s more comfortable on a guitar, and I’m happier on the piano, so there are often some afternoons where we brainstorm and work together, feeding off each other’s ideas. Rachel would come by and hang out some times, cheering me on and working on sketches for new projects. The energy in the room—the creative energy, was almost intoxicating at times. Sitting in that sacred special, with two people I trusted most in the world. It was more cleansing than any therapist, and journal entry.

Since Sam had a long day, and I needed some time to clear my head.  I started the day with Rachel—making her breakfast, and then sitting in the studio with her.  She’d been finishing throwing some clay—a mesmerizing thing to watch. Then I had decided to venture out, take a walk and soak in some sun and waves.  And there they had been.

Gemma was digging happily and carefree in the sand, Tom looked relaxed and content on the blanket.  Gemma had seen me almost immediately, and I couldn’t just walk away, not that I had wanted to.  Her big, dark eyes lit up as she saw me walking toward them.  She’d immediately hopped up, taken my hand and yanked me down into the sand with her.

Then there was Tom.  A man so distracting, it’s hard to focus on anything else when he’s nearby. He’s unassuming though.  He doesn’t draw attention to himself, but it’s impossible not to notice him.  In the sun, his golden brown hair shone in thick waves, his blue eyes more vivid than the cloudless sky.  He’s all long, sinewy muscles—strong and lean with a light dusting of hair across his broad chest.  Whenever he picked up Gemma, or crawled around on the sand, I could see the way his abs contracted, the movement of the muscles in his back.

I can’t remember the last time I felt so physically attracted to anyone, and it’s almost frightening.  When he asked me to dinner, everything inside of me seemed to light on fire.  I heard my sister’s voice in my head, telling me to stay away from him, but I couldn’t say no.  I just couldn’t.

He takes about twenty minutes putting Gemma to bed.  I can hear him helping her brush her teeth, then the low murmur of his voice as he reads her a story—once and then for a second time.  His voice gets softer and more muffled, until I’m sure she’s drifted off to sleep- lulled by the comfort of his voice and his nearness. I can tell it is a special time for them—a ritual that he probably doesn’t get to do as often as he’d like, and one that truly signifies being a parent. Putting your child to bed, tucking them in, making sure they are safe for the night.

I stand up from the couch and go back into the kitchen, fiddling with my mug as the nerves inside of me start again.  It’s like jumping beans, my stomach is a flurry. Like carbonation in a soda, a light, constant buzzing.  It’s been awhile since I’ve been involved with anyone—romantic or otherwise, but this feels different.  This feels like more. 

“She’s asleep.  She usually gets up once or twice though before she’ll settle down completely.” His voice startles me, and I turn from the counter and face him.  He looks relaxed, calm.  I feel like a skittish cat, ready to pounce or run away, whichever is easiest.

“What were you reading?” I ask, stalling for some reason. 

“Where the Wild Things Are.  It frightens her, but she loves it for some reason.” He laughs softly.

“Ah, she’s a brave one then? Doing the things that frighten her?” I give him a little smile, and I know that my words are a reflection of how I am feeling about myself as well. At least, I hope I am being brave. And not just dumb with lust and curiosity.

“She is.” Tom says quietly, his light eyes on me. He steps farther into the room, and I lean back, handing him his mug of tea which he takes with a nod of his head. The tension is so thick in the room, it is nearly suffocating me. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, and he takes a drink of his tea and then lets out a soft laugh.

“Do you want to sit outside on the porch?” He asks, turning his face toward me. I wish I knew what he was thinking. His eyes are gentle, his face relaxed. There is the slight crinkle at his eyes as the corners of his mouth tilt upward. I set my mug down, and nod.

“Maybe first…you should kiss me again.” I blurt out. _Otherwise, I am going to run_. He raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn’t move. I step toward him, and press him gently back against the counter, my hands on his stomach. He smiles and one of his big hands comes up, gently tilting my chin toward him.  With my face raised up toward him, our eyes meet.

I could fall in love with him. It would be so easy.

His lips meet mine, and all thought leaves my mind.   He’s gentle, lips soft and giving.  I reach for him, pushing my hands up his chest, feeling the muscle move under my hands.  I feel his heart under my right hand, a thumping that’s just as fast as my own.  Tom pushes both hands through my hair, bringing my face closer to his as he deepens the kiss.  I haven’t been in many relationships.  It’s harder than one would think, when the whole world is clamoring for a piece of you. I’ve had enough experience though to know what makes a kiss worthwhile. All the build up and the wild thoughts. They pale in comparison to the actual physical contact.

And I’ve never kissed anyone like Tom. He should be just like every other man…but he’s not. And dear lord, does he know how to kiss. I moan softly against him, unable to keep it inside, pressing myself up against him. He responds, and I feel it in my knees and deep in my stomach.

Tom slows the kiss after a moment, his hands still in my hair, his forehead lowered to mine.  We are both quiet, eyes half closed, breath in synch.  I could live in this moment and be perfectly happy for a long, long time.

“Don’t say it.” I whisper. He grips my arms slightly tighter.

“Say what?”

“That…this is a bad idea. Because it is, isn’t it?” I ask, a hint of humor in my voice. I have to acknowledge what I know we are both thinking. I reach forward and wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him closer.  Tom is quiet for a few moments, and I try not to hold my breath.

“Gemma is my number one priority.  Stability for her is crucial.” He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” My voice wavers.  “I know. I understand.” What do I have to offer him? Definitely not stability.

“You make my head spin, Billie.” He gathers my hair in his hands, his fingers brushing against my scalp, sending waves of pleasure up my spine.  “I want to tell you that we could keep this casual…no rules, no…promises.” His voice is low and it vibrates through my very core. “But I would be lying if I said that was what I wanted.”

“It’s not?” I feel breathless, lightheaded. He shakes his head and pulls back slightly.

“No. But I don’t want to ask you for more than you can give.” He runs his hands down my bare arms, and threads his fingers through mine.

“I wish I could tell you right now what it is that I have to offer…but, I just really don’t know.” I squeeze his hands and he smiles at me, though it’s a small one. We are both quiet, and he leans forward and kisses me on the forehead, lingering there for a moment.

“Let’s go out to the porch.” He says finally, moving and leading me out of the kitchen. I follow, letting him direct me out onto the small porch. It’s barely big enough for the porch swing, and the two Adirondack chairs. He leaves the front door open, but the screen door closed, so he can hear Gemma if she wakes up. We sit on the porch swing, our thighs pressed next to each other. It’s a warm, balmy evening and the waves are a constant soundtrack.

“Tell me about your life back in California.” He says suddenly, as we move slowly back and forth. He has his arm around the back of the swing, and I lean against him. His body is solid and strangely comforting.

“What do you want to know?” I ask. It’s hard for me to open up, hard for me to let down my guard. I don’t even know where to start, even when I do want to share with someone. It’s all been locked up for so long that I’ve lost the ends to this tightly wound ball of yarn inside of me.

“Where do you live?” He asks, turning toward me.

“I live in a house in Los Angeles. It’s got a great view.” I nod, but even I can hear the stoniness of my voice. The lack of enthusiasm. He nods and blinks, waiting. What I really want to say: _I have an 8,000 square foot mansion on the side of a ridiculous hill. My house has eight rooms, and I only truly use one of them. I have four cars sitting in my garage, and I’ve only driven two of them. All of them were gifts from different car companies. Last time I was at my house, every room was full of people I don’t know, or have only barely met. I spent the night in the bathroom, crying and drinking vodka._

“I don’t know what to say.” I shrug and laugh, embarrassed.

“You really hate talking about yourself that much?” He asks softly. I swallow.

“That’s what music is for. So I don’t have to talk.” I manage. His eyes don’t leave my face, and I hold his gaze, for a few more seconds.

“Okay, so what would your last meal be? If you were on death row, and granted one last meal, what would it be?”He changes the subject so quickly, that I immediately smile.

“Really?” I grin.

“Yes.”

“Um.” I shake my head. “Mashed potatoes. Sweet corn on the cob. Pasta…” I smile. Tom nods and smiles, chuckling softly.

“You’ve got a carb problem, darling.” He leaned into me. I nod.

“Chocolate cake. A malted milkshake. Lemon meringue pie.” I sigh softly, then look at him. “What about you?” I ask. He tilts his head and takes a deep breath.

“Sunday roast. And definitely pudding. Every kind. Chocolate mousse, chocolate cake…” He grins like a little kid and shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve got a sweet tooth.”

“I see that.” I nod.

“What’s your favorite holiday?” He asks then, his arm settling gently around my shoulders. It feels comfortable, nice, and I lean closer into him.

“Well…that’s a hard one. I didn’t have many great holidays growing up.” I chew nervously on my lip and then pat him gently on the leg. “Christmas is nice though.” It’s a generic answer, but I don’t have much else for him. Holidays growing up were for other people, not us. We were the outsiders, just happy to be there, but not quite participants. Tom frowns slightly.

“I like Christmas as well.” He says softly.

“Do you have a bucket list?” I ask the next question, blurting it out without really thinking. He shifts and looks at me. His face is silhouetted slightly in the dark, but I can see his features from the light coming shining out from the house.

“Of course. Yeah.” He nods.

“So? What’s on it?” I prod gently. He smiles and looks away.

“I’ll tell you some of it, but not number one.” He bargains. I nod, quiet. “I want to travel. Take Gemma outside of just the east coast. She needs to see the world. I’ve been through a lot of Europe, but not much of the States. And there’s still a lot more to see. Have you traveled a lot?” He turns the questioning back on me and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Yes. A lot of Europe and all throughout the US. Australia. Japan. Mostly on tours, which means I only saw the inside of hotel rooms. So, I’d love to go back and really…experience it.” I nod.

“What else is on your list?” He asks. I take a deep breath.

“I want to get back to writing music for me, and no one else. I want to release an album that hasn’t been produced to an inch of it’s life.” I press my lips together. “I want to find my person.” I shrug. I feel Tom tense next to me.

“Your person?” He asks. I nod.

“Yes. I want to find the person who I can share my life with. Not the fame and the celebrity, maybe not even the music. Just the person who I can truly share _me_ with. Someone who I can trust completely. Someone who doesn’t want me to be anyone else, who won’t try to mold me into something I’m not.” I clench my jaw for a moment, and for some reason my mind drifts to Shorty. I think of the pressure he’s put on me. To make a decision, to release a statement that I don’t want to release. We have mostly a business relationship, but I’ve known him so long that he’s nearly like family to me, especially considering I don’t really have much family.

“That’s interesting.” Tom says softly.

“Oh?” I turn to him. He gives me a soft smile and then leans forward, kisses the corner of my mouth. I freeze, resisting the urge to pull him against me, to ask and beg and plead for him to just engulf and consume me.

“It’s not far off from my number one.” He whispers against my mouth. I reach up, sliding my hands to his broad shoulders, then up his neck and into the hair at the back of his head.

“What’s your number one?” I ask. He pauses, his eyes lowered as he gathers his thoughts, then begins to speak.

“I want to find someone. Someone who is true to themselves, and true to me. I want to share everything with her, good and bad. I want to be consumed by her. I want to travel the world with her and Gemma, as a family. But when it comes down to it, I just want to wake up next to her every day, no matter where we are.  And I want her to feel the same, wholeheartedly and without any reservations.” Tom’s words have a strange effect on me. They are like fire and ice water, all at the same time. I feel the heat of what he says, the burning passion of it, the deep, honest yearning that he is feeling and I connect completely with it. I know he’s not necessarily talking about me. He probably hasn’t even pictured that scenario, but I can’t help but feel his words. They are bold and utterly romantic, but I know they are also completely true. Then, comes the ice water. The prickling, shocking fear. Of hurting this man, and his family. Of wanting something so badly and wanting to _be_ something so badly, but not being able to deliver or live up to expectations. I hardly know him, and I want to know him completely and yet not at all. The fear climbs up my spine, one cold, bony hand after another. I feel the warmth of him next to me, the solid heat of his body, and the press of his hand against my side.

I don’t know what to say or how to respond.

“I’m just going to let you down.” My voice is so soft, but I have to say it. I have to let him know that I’m probably not who he is looking for. He opens his mouth, ever so slightly, and my eyes fix on his lips. He looks as if he’s going to speak, but then he hesitates for a moment.

“What would you say if I told you that I don’t believe you? And even if it’s true…I feel like it’s worth finding out for myself?” When he speaks it’s as if everything else has stopped. There is a quietness to the night that seems to amplify each breath we take. The quiet, muffled pounding of my heart and his.

I lean forward, tilt my face up and we come crashing together. A soft moan comes from me, high pitched and needy as he gathers me against him. We kiss, his hands cupping my face and tangling in my hair as I do what I can to draw him nearer. The way we are sitting on the swing is awkward, and I can’t turn to him fully without bashing knees, so he stands up quickly, taking me with him. We sway slightly as we stand and come together. He is so tall, and in control, and I feel lightweight and floating, hoping he will hold tight and not let me fly away. Tom backs me up slowly, until I feel the railing bump up against my back. I lean up, wrapping my arms around his neck as we kiss, our tongues sliding against each other. He nips at my lower lip, and I do the same back.

In one quick and effortless move, Tom lifts me up, setting me down on the wide plank railing. I balance there easily. Immediately he steps closer, in between my knees, which I’ve splayed open, inviting him in. We keep kissing, and I have no intention of stopping. Now or perhaps, ever. He braces his hands on either side of my thighs, locking his long arms by me as I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss a trail down his throat. He tilts his head back, giving me better access, and I hear and feel the low, deep moan that comes from him.

He tilts his head back down after a minute, bending his arms and begins licking a slow path down my neck, across my shoulder. I giggle softly, and he nips at my shoulder, his hands coming up to my waist as he pulls me closer.

We are both lost in a world that is only us. The warm, summer night air blowing gently through my hair and against my skin. The feel of Tom—his strength, his command, his quiet confidence. His kisses on my mouth and down my neck and across my shoulder, wherever he can find bare skin.

We don’t have enough time, not nearly enough, before a soft, sleepy cry breaks through the quiet night. We both freeze, and I feel Tom tense and hold his breath.

“Tom!” Gemma’s voice comes from the house, insistent but not upset. He sags slightly against me and then chuckles softly.

“She rings.” He says. I have handfuls of his tshirt bunched in my hands at his sides, and I relaxed quickly, letting him go.

“Tommy!” She says again. He steps back, runs a hand through his already messy hair.

“It’s okay. Go!” I laugh softly, pushing him gently. He nods but then takes a deep breath.

“You’re fantastic, you know that?” He grins. I shake my head and shrug.

“You are too. Maybe I should go though?” I ask, and then slide down off the railing, testing my legs before I do. A bit shaky, but I know I won’t stumble. He groans softly, knowing that I probably should. We hear Gemma call for him again.

“Gems, be right there!” He shouts through the front door.

“It’s late. I’ll see you again soon, yeah?” I ask, reaching forward and taking his hands. He nods and kisses the back of my hand, then leans forward and kisses me again.

“Yes. Please.” He whispers. We say our quick goodbyes, and then he disappears into the house to go check on Gemma.

I take a slow, deep breath and then leave the house, looking forward to the walk home. As I walk away, I hear Tom and Gemma through the open screened windows. They are laughing and Gemma is nearly shouting about something, her voice happy and high, while Tom shushes her. I can’t make out what they are saying, and as I get farther away, the voices get quieter and quieter.


	14. 13: his number, hope and a dragon

Rachel suggest going to The Bar for some drinks, since Sam is busy with grading finals, and we’re both feeling a bit stir crazy. I balk at the idea at first, simply because I haven’t been there since my run in with Disgusting Frat Boy #47. She doesn’t know about that incident, and I don’t feel like rehashing the past, so I agree after a few minutes of her begging.

“We could go somewhere else? The Clamshell? Only difference is the Clam doesn’t have a particularly handsome, British, single, Dad-of-the-year working there.” Rachel glances at me over her shoulder as she finishes unpacking a box of new glazes that were just delivered earlier in the day. I pause, purse my lips and shake my head.

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.” I say with a hint of a smile.

“Liar.” Rachel rolls her eyes, and stands up straight. “Come on. I need a drink, and you need to see him. I can tell.” She grins and then starts to yank me out the door.

We walk there quickly, not speaking much. It’s a nice night out, but the sky is threatening rain. We still walk, not worrying about the weather, both of us enjoying the fresh air. It’s been four days since I last saw or spoke to Tom. I want to speak to him. Want to see him again. But part of me is hesitant—cautious. This is new territory for me, in so many ways, and I want to make sure I know what I’m doing. I’ve spent the last few days thinking, and weighing my options, and replaying the kiss and all of our conversations over and over in my head. And my conclusion is…that I still don’t know what I’m doing. Not even in the least bit.

Since it’s a Wednesday night, The Bar is pretty dead. Nothing like the packed house when I was there last time. I breathe a sigh of relief as we walk up to the building, and I see that there are only a few cars in the parking lot. Inside, it is dark and intimate, quieter than I expected. There’s a few people sitting at tables, and four or five people at the long bar. Other than that, it’s empty.

I slide up next to Rachel, who takes the first stool directly in the center of the bar. The wooden seat is cool under my bare thighs, and I yank gently at my cuffed jean shorts as I get comfortable. The humidity has wrecked havoc on my hair, and so I pull it back into a messy bun so it stays out of my face. I don’t see Tom behind the bar, but instead it’s his coworker that I recognize from the other night—the pretty one who had dark hair and impressive cleavage. Still pretty. Still dark. Still cleavagey.

“Hi ladies. What can I get for you?” She walks over to us, smiling at Rachel. When she sees me, she does a double take. I’m not sure if it’s because she remembers me from the night before, or she’s recognizing me as Baby. I’m not sure if either is preferable.

“Blue moon, please.” Rachel glances over at me. I haven’t had much to drink—not since my camping trip on her deck.

“And a coke, hmm?” Tom comes from out of nowhere, but more likely from the back rooms behind the bar. I look up, surprised. I can’t help but smile, it’s almost a knee-jerk reaction.

“Seltzer with lime.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to form a habit.” His eyes lock on mine, and they crinkle at the sides as he returns the smile.

“Chelsea, I’ve got this.” Tom nods to his coworker, who finishes pulling Rachel’s beer.

“You look familiar.” Chelsea says to me, setting the beer down in front of my sister. Tom glances at me and then back at his coworker, a worried look on his face. I smile and shrug.

“I have one of those faces.” I say easily. My standard response.

“Hmm.” Chelsea raises a dark eyebrow and then looks to Tom. “Finished in the back, Tom-o? I’m going to go on my break.” She asks him and he nods in response as she walks away, her hips swinging as she does.

“She’s friendly.” Rachel mutters under her breath and Tom gives her a quick laugh.

“Some of the customers like her…special attitude.” He grins. Tom makes my drink, and places it down on the coaster in front of me. He leans forward, and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. Right there in front of my sister, the bar, the world. But he doesn’t, he just leans against his arms and smiles in a relaxed sort of way.

“How are finals, Tom?” Rachel asks, breaking the silence. I sit up, not realizing that I’d been leaning forward, toward Tom and I quickly take a drink.

“Hell.” He stands up straight, and starts fiddling around behind the bar. He’s wearing a tshirt tonight—a plain white one that should look sloppy or boring, but instead looks altogether way too appealing stretched across his broad shoulders and straining ever so slightly at his biceps. I take another drink and wish I’d had vodka added.

“Same for Sam. He’s home now working on grades.” Rachel sighs. Tom nods and crosses his arms, threatening the threadbare life of the material smoothed over his arms.

“I wish I could be as well. It’s been nonstop. We’ve got another few days left and then it’ll be smooth sailing for the rest of the summer.” He pauses and glances at me, his eyes giving away nothing. I look away, focusing in on my sister, trying not to feel the burn in my cheeks. Why does he have to look at me like that? Like he’s positively _starving_.

“The summer semester is almost over?” I glance at him, but only for a second. It’s a stupid question, because of course I know the answer, but I force myself to speak and say something. Anything to try and feel normal.

“Ends on Friday. Which is why I am scrambling right now. There’s never enough time, but I’ll make due.” He shrugs and winks at Rachel in a laid back, harmlessly flirty way. She smiles.

“Sam and I are going away this weekend, since he’ll be finished. He’s been so stressed, I thought it would be good to get away.” Rachel turns to me and takes a deep breath. This is news to me.

“Are you? I didn’t know.” I take another sip. I can’t help but wonder if I’m cramping their style, a little too much.

“Yeah, just for Friday and Saturday night. We’ll be back Sunday evening. We’re going to go to Pennsylvania and do some hiking.” She brushes a hand through her hair. She has hair like mine—white blond, but shorter and she keeps it a bit more tamed than I have ever managed to.

“Am I overstaying my welcome?” I ask softly, leaning toward her. Tom goes back to cleaning up around the bar, and serving drinks to two women that have just sat down. I keep one ear on him, listening to him as he greets them. They giggle and flirt with him, and he flirts back, in a rather subdued, harmless way. He’s charming, that one. He can’t even help it.

Rachel shakes her head, almost violently and reached for my arm.

“No, don’t be an idiot.” She rolls her eyes. “We’ve just been under a lot of stress. And we both thought that maybe a change of scenery would be nice. It has nothing to do with you. You’re the perfect house guest, believe me.” Rachel squeezes my arm, and I feel a little better. She wouldn’t lie to me. The truth is, I could easily get a hotel room somewhere in town. But when I’d first come home, I had needed the company. Needed to be somewhere homey and real—not a stale, sterile hotel room. God knows I’ve seen enough of those to last more than a lifetime.

“Okay, well…when you want me gone, just say so. Please.” I ask. She shrugs and gives me a wide smile.

“I’ll let you know, don’t you worry.”

“Are you guys renting a cabin? Or staying in a hotel?” Tom asks, walking back over to us. He moves a dish rag from hand to hand, and then wipes down the counter behind the bar. The two women he’d just been serving are whispering to each other, both eyes on him still. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs and then gives me a wide, easy grin. I roll my eyes with a soft chuckle.

“A cabin. It has a hot tub and an amazing view.” Rachel sighs, and looks momentarily very far away. I grin and nudge her.

“Have a good time, you hussy.” I laugh.

“Speaking of a good time—what will you do while we’re gone? With an empty house all to yourself?” Rachel looks over at me, and her grin gets wider and wider. She then turns and looks pointedly at Tom.

“Say, Tom, what are you up to this weekend?” She asks innocently. I could kill her with my bare hands. Tom blushes, he actually blushes. I see the pink in his cheeks, and he coughs softly into his hand before being able to look at either of us.   I told Rachel we had kissed. As soon as I’d gotten home that night, I had told her. I had to tell someone or I felt I would burst. She spent a few minutes lecturing me, but then she asked me for all the details.

“I’ve got a lot of grading to do.” He says, hiding a smile. Rachel frowns.

“You should be done that by this weekend. Classes end Friday.” She reaches under the bar and pinches my thigh, right above my knee. I hold in a yelp, but I kick her back, square in the shin.

“Classes end Friday, grades aren’t truly due until the following week.” He leans against the bar, his eyes shining with amusement. I’m not sure if my face is pink or red or purple with embarrassment. “But perhaps you’re right. I could be free this weekend.” He adds softly.

“Rach, how are those new tea pots selling?” I look at my sister, and change the subject so rapidly that she must have been waiting for it. She barely misses a beat as she takes another drink from her beer.

“Not bad. I’ve almost sold out.” She squints at me, and with barely a movement, nods toward Tom. I shake my head ‘NO’. She looks down and pulls her phone out of her pocket, checking it for a messages.

“Billie.” Tom says my name, and I am forced to look at him, or I’d be truly the rudest person alive.

“Hi.” I perk up, and turn myself in his direction.

“Will you be in the studio this week at all?” He asks. I blink a few times and then nod.

“Yes, most likely.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” He gives me a half crooked smile. “You’ll have to let me know, and if I have a break between classes, I’d love to come hear you again.”

“Sure.” I nod dumbly. He turns and starts to refill Rachel’s beer, as he breaks into a big yawn.

“Sorry. No rest for the wicked.” He murmurs.

“You haven’t been sleeping well?” I blurt out. Neither have I.

“Well, I’ve been sleeping fine. I just haven’t been sleeping enough. Things are crazy around this time. Work, finals, grading. Rosie has two back to back doctor’s appointments tomorrow so I’m bringing Gems to class with me. I’ve got two classes and a grad session, so it should be interesting. There’s only so many coloring books and iPad apps that will keep her quiet and busy.” He shrugs and leans back against the counter. I study his face for a moment, just now noticing the slight dark smudges under his eyes, telltale signs that he’s tired. His eyes are alert though, and his smile comes easy as always. I get the sudden urge to hide in bed with him, all day long. Or curl up on the couch, his head in my lap, gently running my fingers through his sandy hair.

Jesus H. _Is_ there vodka in this drink?

“You know, you could bring Gemma to the studio. I’ll watch her. Hang out with her. Most of the time, I’m just sitting there listening. The booth is sound proof, so she won’t disturb anyone recording. She can make as much noise as she wants.” I say the words before I really think them through, but I’m glad I say them. Who would have thought? Baby Darling, Babysitter extraordinaire.

Tom frowns at me for a second, and then raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head, and starts refilling glasses around the bar. One of the women down the bar, reaches forward and grabs Tom’s hand as he refills her drink. She scribbles something on his wrist, and Tom just watches her, an eyebrow lifted at her boldness. I watch, my mouth hanging open for a moment, before I grunt and look back at my sad, alcohol-less drink. I glance at Rachel, who is rapidly texting on her phone, totally clueless. She hops off her stool, and gestures that she’ll be right back as she lifts the phone to her ear to make a call. A moment later, Tom is back.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Tom says, totally ignoring the fact that he was hit on just a second ago. I stare at him for a long moment, my eyes wide. He blinks and then gives me a knowing look.

“Hazard of the job. Numbers you don’t want. Offers that aren’t appealing.” He says in a lowered voice. He grabs a bar rag, and discreetly rubs at his wrist, smudging away the phone number the woman has just left.

“I bet.” I say softly. It’s funny really. I don’t blame the girl for trying. “How many of those do you get in a night?” I ask, nodding toward his arm. He shrugs, looking bashful for a second. “Come on. You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.” I wink. He laughs, loudly, his shoulders shaking.

“On a good night—the touristy sort on a weekend. I can get a dozen if I’m in a good mood.” He gives me a slow, sly smile that somehow makes my stomach clench, despite the fact that he’s telling me he could have upwards of 12 women a night in his bed. I hope he stretches beforehand.

“Wow. Impressive.” I lean forward against the bar.

“You? I bet you get hundreds.” He leans back.

“I can get a few.” I demure. He laughs and pushes his hands into his pockets, shaking his head at me.

“The real question is…will you or have you ever called any of them?” He asks. I laugh and shake my head.

“No. I won’t and I haven’t.” I giggle, and finish my drink, suddenly feeling a bit dry mouthed. Tom steps forward, reaching for my glass in my hand. He takes it from me, setting it down gently on the bar, and stretches my arm out over the smooth wood surface. I watch him, my brow creased. He runs a big hand down my forearm and then he grabs a pen, and leans close as he begins writing on my wrist. He writes for just a few seconds, but I smile as I see it’s a number. His number, of course.

“What about now? Will you ever call any of them?” He says softly, looking at me with his ocean blue eyes. I want to kiss him, so badly I can nearly taste his lips. I feel his hand on mine, still holding my arm over the bar, his bigger hand cupping mine gently.

“Maybe.” I whisper breathlessly. The corners of his mouth lift.

“Well you have my number now, Billie Darling. I’ve wanted to talk to you the past few days, but aside from stalking you outside your house, I had no way of getting in touch.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to stalk me outside my house.” I manage with a cynical tone, my heart thumping softly but strongly. “Besides, you could have called Sam or Rach.” I smile. He grins and nods, and then leans back, letting go of my hand.

“They would have crucified me.” He laughs, just as Rachel comes back to the bar. She looks at us, her eyes full of questions. I pull my arm back to my side, feeling the numbers on my wrists as if he’d just branded me. His number. I feel like I’m sixteen again and I’ve gotten the number of the boy I like. It’s like a key to an uncharted world.

“What’s going on?” Rachel raises an eyebrow and looks from me to Tom and then back to me.

“Um, I just…” I take a deep breath. “I offered to babysit Gemma tomorrow for Tom.” I smile wide at my sister, who doesn’t buy it for a second but then shrugs.

“That’s a great idea!” She nods. Tom holds up his hands and shakes his head.

“Tom, really. It’s not a big deal. You need help. I’m free.” I shrug. He comes back over, his jaw set and his eyes locked on me. Maybe I’m crazy, but I can practically feel the kiss from the other night, hanging between us.

“She’s a lot of work.” The corner of his mouth tilts up. I raise an eyebrow.

“Let me help you, Tom.” I ask. He sighs softly, and I see his jaw clench. It’s not easy for him to accept help, I can tell. He’s far too used to being a one man show. Sure, he has Rosie, and she is just as much a parent to Gemma as he is. But I can tell he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. I wish he would let me help. Even in a tiny way.

“Tom.” I say, using a much more stern voice. He laughs then, softly and gives me a tiny nod of his head.

“Okay. Alright. But I owe you. Big time.” He reaches over the bar then, and takes my hand between his two much larger ones. The urge to kiss him is strong. Fierce. I bite the inside of my lip, and take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, guys. I need to go back home. Sam says the internet is down, and he needs to go to the library. I have the car keys in my bag.” Rachel groans, and then chugs the rest of her beer. Tom and I watch appreciatively.

“Do you want to stay here or come back with me?” She asks.

“I’ll come with you.” I nod, slipping my hand from Tom’s. As much as I’d like to sit and talk to him more, I’m also wary of staying here alone and having another drunk frat boy decide to tell me all his disgusting stories. Plus, the ladies down the bar are watching how Toms holding my hand, and I’m getting invisible eye daggers aimed at the side of my head.

“How much do we owe you, Tom?” Rachel asks, digging through her bag. Tom shakes his head.

“On the house. Just come visit me more often.” He looks at me then and smiles. My heart thumps a bit harder in my chest.

“That’s not a bad deal.” Rachel grins, and gets up and begins making her way to the door, in a hurry and not bothering to wait for me.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask, slipping off the bar stool. Tom nods, and then holds up a hand, motioning for me to wait. He jogs around the bar, and comes out onto the floor, stopping just in front of me. I’m still not used to his height. I may never be. He dwarfs me. I tighten my hands at my sides, feeling a rush of adrenaline push through me.

“Thank you. Really. You’re a lifesaver.” He gives me a soft smile, his blue eyes thankful and gentle. I look up at him and tilt my head, slightly.

“Gemma’s great. I love spending time with her.” I say softly. Tom nods, something unintelligible flashing through his eyes. He leans down then, wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me into him. His kiss is warm, gentle and then breathtakingly fierce. It’s not a long kiss, but god, does it take my breath away. It’s as if he’s inhaled me, taken all the air from my lungs. I melt against him.

“Thank you. Call me, yeah?” He whispers softly against my ear, his breath warm against my hair and neck. I smile, and press my hands into his hands, squeezing gently. He’s real. He’s solid and real and not at all a figment of my imagination.

“Okay. And remember, you owe me, right?” I pull back, suddenly realizing we’ve drawn a few stares from other bar patrons. The two women down the bar are practically gawping at us. Oops. I don’t think they recognize me, but we’ve just put on quite an interesting public display of affection. Not something I normally do, but it just…couldn’t be helped.

“Oh, I’ll remember.” His voice is low, gravelly. I kiss him quickly on the lips, and then push him away playfully.

“Bye, Tom.”

“Good night, Billie Darling.” He grins, slow and lazy, as if he knows what’s coming and takes pleasure in the fact. And maybe I do too. Just a little bit.

 

 ****

 

“She got into a stash of sweets at Rosie’s this morning. So she has more sugar in her than…well…it’s alarming, really.” He looks at me apologetically as Gemma comes bounding into the studio. Her dark, curly hair is in tiny pigtails, and she’s wearing a brightly colored dress with completely clashing cotton leggings.

“I’ve packed snacks though. Apple slices and string cheese and juice. She’ll drink water too. And there’s coloring books, books and games in here.” He sets down a backpack he’s been carrying. It’s pink with tiny colorful horses all over it.

“Oh fun!” I laugh. Sam is still in his office, getting last minute music ready, and our first student hasn’t shown up yet.  The studio is empty right now, save for Gemma who is hopping from the couch to the producer’s chair. We have a slow morning, so it’s a perfect day to have her around.

“She demanded she dress herself this morning, hence the…rainbow vomit explosion.” He waves his hands toward her, and groans softly. “And she refused to let Rosie touch her hair, so it was up to me. I’m rubbish at it, but…it is what it is.” He grimaces. One pigtail is rather higher than the other, but she still looks adorable nonetheless. I glance at Tom, wondering how he’s holding up. He’s Professor Tom this morning, in dress pants and a dress shirt. He’s got his glasses on, which makes him look a bit dorky, but mostly like the sexy academic sort. I get a flashing image of making out in the library stacks, tossing his glasses onto the floor, and grabbing him by the tie…

“Tom fell this morning in his underwear.” Gemma breaks my train of thought, and Tom’s eyes get so wide I’m almost certain they will bulge from his head. I hold in a laugh and lean down toward Gemma, who is grinning up at Tom. He narrows his eyes at her and she giggles loudly.

“Gemma.” He blinks.

“Are you alright?” I smile, trying not to laugh.

“He hurt his bum. He said a bad word. He said ‘bloody—“

“Gemma!” Tom cuts her off, and then squats down so he’s eye level with her. I have to stand back up, and hide my face so I don’t burst into a gigglefit. I hear Tom scold her gently, and then send her off toward the couch in the back of the room with a book.

“Well. Good morning.” He stands up, his cheeks flushed. I look up at him, noticing again the dark smudges under his eyes, the appealing lines between his eyebrows. He does look a bit more thrown together than usual this morning. One side of his shirt is slightly untucked, his hair seems to be curling just a bit more at the sides. He looks more like a student than the teacher, but he’s handsome and disarmingly charming nonetheless.

“Are you alright? How’s your bum?” I ask with a tiny smile. I fight the urge to reach behind him and give him a pat. He narrows his eyes at me and then groans.

“We were running late. There were about four thousand tiny little cars lined up in the hallway outside the bathroom. God knows where they came from, because Gemma swears it wasn’t her.” He sighs and then laughs. “Anyway, a spectacular fall and some rather loud cursing, and our whole morning was off to a rubbish start.” He puts his hands on his narrow hips and I can’t help but smile. I reach forward, slide my arms around his waist, and yank him into a hug. He is tense for a second, but then melts against me.

I spent most of the night after leaving the bar, thinking about him. I ran my fingers over the numbers he wrote on my wrist, memorizing them first by sight and then by touch. It is nice to see him again so soon.

“I hope your day gets better.” I whisper into his ear. He presses his face into my hair and takes a deep breath.

“Mmm, it already has. Thank you, again, for watching her. Truly.” He says as we pull apart. He squeezes my hand in his and we lock eyes for a moment. It’s crazy to think that a little more than a month ago, I spent nearly every day in a rush of people. A crowd always around me. At night, I was surrounded by people I barely knew in my own house. I felt utterly and completely alone. Now, I go to sleep in a quiet, nearly empty house, save for my sister and her husband. I spend most of my days by myself, with the exception of a handful of people. And yet, I feel more full, more connected than ever before. And when I look at Tom…I feel something I haven’t felt in so very, very long. Something that seems so fragile, and so uncertain that I’m scared to acknowledge it. It feels something like hope.

“I know you’re really busy. And you’ve got no free time, and you’re working and you’ve got Gemma…but if you are free at all this weekend, I would love it if you could come over to Sam and Rachel’s. I could make you dinner. Since you made me dinner the other night. You could bring Gemma.” I say this all in rather quick, rapid fire way, before I can even fully think about what I’m asking. Tom crosses his arms over his chest, his mouth in a set, straight line, watching me.

“I have been really busy.” He nods. I let out a slow breath and shake my head, understanding. But he continues. “But Saturday night, I should have some free time. And Gemma is staying with Rosie on Saturday so…it would be just me.” He says, and then one corner of his mouth lifts just a bit. I flush, feeling pleasure run up my spine and heat my face.

“Oh. Okay.” I breathe softly. “Okay well, Saturday then. Saturday would be good.” I nod. He grins, a full on smile, and I feel my stomach flip.

“Can I bring anything? Ice cream?” He laughs softly.

“No. No, just you.” I shake my head and then break into a smile.

“Tom, can we play Princess? I’m the knight and you’re the princess. Billie can be the dragon.” Gemma pipes up from across the room, and I’m brought back into real life. Real life where it’s not just me and Tom playing this game. There’s someone else involved. Someone who I would never, ever want to hurt. I glance over at Gemma, and she is looking at both of us with unabashed anticipation. I feel a tug of apprehension in my stomach, and when I look at Tom, I could swear that he feels it too. He looks down, his eyes lost in something I can’t quite read, but the moment passes quickly.

“I can be a really excellent dragon.” I say as I step forward, trying to push the slight uneasiness from my mind. I throw back my head and roar out my best dragon impression. It sounds more like a dying dinosaur, but she seems to buy it. Gemma squeals and then claps her hands.

“Tommy is the best princess. And you’re the best dragon.” She jumps off the sofa and begins skipping around the room, dancing to some sort of music that only she can hear.

“I have no secrets with her around.” Tom deadpans softly, shaking his head. We laugh, and then I push him quickly out of the room, so he can go to work. I’m looking forward to spending the rest of the day with Gemma, playing knights and dragons, though I know my mind will be firmly in the future—more specifically, Saturday night.


	15. 14: a surprise, a more-than-friends, and a stranger

 

Tom knocked rapidly on Rachel and Sam’s front door, adrenaline pumping steadily through him. He was early. Almost by half an hour. He hoped she didn’t mind. He bounced back on his heels and then rocked forward to the balls of his feet, waiting.

About an hour ago, he’d dropped Gemma off at Rosie’s for the night. The girls were planning on spending a quiet night in, but first they were headed out for ice cream. He’d given them both hugs, simply telling Rosie he was working at home and then perhaps going for dinner with a friend, and then he had left them, giving them their time together. Rosie had belted Gemma into the backseat of her ancient station wagon, and had driven off at about 3 miles per hour toward the far end of town, where the best ice cream shop was.

It was on his walk back to his house, so he could change and get ready for dinner, that he’d seen them. Dolphins. What looked to be at least a couple dozen of them. They were strikingly close to the shore, and spread far out into the surprisingly calm ocean. He’d watched them for a few minutes, noticing that they were making their way south, toward Rachel and Sam’s house, and keeping parallel to the shore.

Seeing dolphins wasn’t all that rare. Usually every few weeks there would be a sighting of a few of them, far off the shore in the distant horizon. This though, this was different. If not just because of the sheer number of them. His first instinct was to run back to Rosie’s and grab Gemma, but then he remembered they were on their way to town. So his next best idea, was to jog all the way to Rachel and Sam’s and find his mermaid.

The door opened after a half minute wait, and Tom lunged forward at the sight of Billie.

“Come. Quick!” He exclaimed, grabbing her hands. Billie looked at him wildly, her eyes searching his face. He was just slightly out of breath, and wearing an old button up shirt and faded jeans. He’d planned on changing before heading over to her house for dinner, but that would have to wait. He took in the sight of her—her wide, light eyes, her lips parted slightly in surprise.

“What? Where?” Billie staggered forward as he tugged her out of the door. She clutched at the front of her clothes, still following him. “Tom, what’s going on? Is everyone okay?”

“What? Yes. Oh, yes.” He paused, glancing at her apologetically. She relaxed slightly, her shoulders sinking. “I’m sorry. Everyone is fine. But come on, you’ve got to see.” He grinned, and then turned, rushing them both across the deck, down the stairs and out toward the beach. He heard her laugh, a light, surprisingly airy noise, behind him as he pulled her along. They probably could have seen the dolphins from the deck of the house, but he knew this was something they should see right on the shore.

They stumbled down the beach, half running, half jogging through the still warm sand. The sun was just starting to set, and all the clouds hung low and lazy in the hazy pink and blue sky like white cotton candy.

Tom came to a dead stop at the water’s edge, squeezing Billie’s hand gently, ever aware of what it felt like to have her fingers wrapped around his. The feeling of leading her, guiding her along. The trust that was already there, despite barely knowing each other.

They stood quiet for a moment, looking out over the ocean, waves crashing and succumbing to foam just at their feet.

“It’s the ocean.” Billie quipped softly, which made Tom chuckle.

“Just wait.” He glanced at her, out of the corner of his eye. She was staring straight ahead, trusting that there was something there. Something more than just the same ever constant, ever moving, ever crashing waves of the Atlantic ocean.

“Should I be scared?” She whispered softly, and leaned toward him, pressing her arm up against his. Tom shook his head, but didn’t speak.

It happened slowly. First just a small break in the surf, out almost too far to see. A small splash that seemed out of place. Then, without much warning, the first dolphin came soaring, leaping out of the water, in a movement that was almost too quick, too agile to catch at first glance.

Her reaction was more than he could have hoped for. Billie tensed next to him, and let out a tiny, high pitched yelp followed by surprised laughter.

“Did you see that?!” She asked in an excited whisper.

“Wait for it…” He grinned and looked down at her, taking in the full sight of the woman standing next to him. Her hair blew gently in the salty, warm evening air. She’d curled it, and so instead of the wild waves and charmingly jumbled mass of hair she normally had, her blond hair was smooth and hung in wide waves over her shoulders. From the side, he could make out her delicate, light eyebrows, arched gently over her wide eyes. She was smiling, but just barely, making her cheeks rosy pink and the light caramel freckles across her face seem more playful than normal. She had her arms wrapped around her frame, and for the first time he noticed that she wasn’t exactly dressed. She was wearing a short, lace and floral dressing robe, that barely hit mid thigh. She had it wrapped tight across her body, and cinched at the waist. He could see the gentle swell of her breasts under the thin fabric as she wrapped her arms across herself.

Well. Maybe he should have let her change before he’d surprised her and yanked her from her home. Hindsight and all that.

“Oh! Tom!” She let out a breathy exclamation that hit him straight in the chest. He blinked and then followed her gaze. They’d arrived. Dozens, maybe more, some only a few yards away just before the waves broke. They could see the dolphin’s sleek, smooth gray backs as they skimmed the surface of the water. Fins breaking through the grey blue waves. Everyone once in awhile, one would jump, breaching the space between ocean and sky. Billie would almost always point it out, letting out a little noise of exclamation when this would happen. It made Tom smile. More than smile. It made him feel giddy, and light and…he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Amazing, right?” He grinned. Billie nodded, and kept staring.

“Tom, they’re beautiful, aren’t they? Thank you!” She turned to him then, and without warning, pressed herself against him. Tom felt her body, soft and much smaller, pressed against his. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she pushed her face against his chest, her hair brushing against his chin and against his cheek. She smelled like vanilla and flowers, something sweet and soft and…delicious. He held her in the hug for a moment, and then leaned down, letting himself breathe her in for just a second before kissing her on the top of the head. He ran a hand gently across her shoulders, and down her back, feeling the curve of her shoulders and spine and the softness of her skin just under the flimsy silk.

“We should show Gemma!” Billie said suddenly, pushing him back and away. She looked up at him, her eyes excited, ready to move. Tom hesitated, feeling his throat tighten slightly, finding it strangely hard to think or form words for just an instant. And then it was gone. And he was fine.

“She’s out with Rosie, getting ice cream. I’m almost certain that she’d think ice cream was more important.” He said with a smile. Billie laughed and then sighed, settling back against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and standing off to the side so they could both still see the dolphins. They were quiet for a moment, just watching what was happening. The pod of dolphins seemed to go on forever, and they were showing no signs of stopping.

“I’ve never seen so many.” Billie sighed softly. Tom nodded, agreeing as he tried not to focus too much on the way her robe was fluttering in the breeze, lifting up at her bare thigh.

“I’m sorry I pulled you from the house. I was afraid we’d miss it.” He smiled with a half hearted shrug. Billie looked up at him and smiled, and then suddenly shrieked, and took off at a run across the beach.

“Billie?” Tom frowned, looking after her. “Billie!” He shouted, and turned quickly, running after her. She was just a mass of blond hair, and slender, tan legs. A flash of floral robe, as she sprinted across the sand, stumbling every once in awhile on the uneven ground.

“Dinner!!” She shouted breathlessly over her shoulder toward him as she ran.

“What?!”

“Dinner! I left dinner cooking on the stove! Shit!” She yelped, and then turned back around, kicking sand up as she did.

 

****

 

They ate pizza on the deck, as the sun fully set. Dinner had been reduced to charred, blackened knobs of what used to be prosciutto stuffed chicken, and a pan of scorched white wine sauce. After they ran back to the house, Tom helped Billie open all the windows on the first floor of the house. The smoke alarm was blaring, and though thankfully there wasn’t any fire, there was enough smoke to send them outside until it cleared out. Billie had pouted for only a minute about her ruined dinner, before jokingly blaming it on Tom, and then chasing him around the kitchen with the oven mitts, trying to swat him when he asked if she’d meant to make ‘blackened chicken’.

But the pizza. The pizza was good. It was the kind that had little pools of grease on the top, and the dough was fresh, chewy and crispy all at the same time. Billie opened a bottle of wine, and they had sat out on the deck, watching the sunset as they had dinner. They each ate their fill, sitting comfortably in the evening breeze.

“It’s not so bad, right? Pizza and this view.” Tom grinned as he sat back in his chair, nodding toward the beach. Billie glanced up, taking a sip from her wine glass. While they had waited for the pizza to be delivered, she’d gone into her room and changed quickly from her robe and into a sundress. It was the sort of dress that showed off her shoulders and arms, and Tom had barely been able to take his eyes off her when she’d come out of her room. He’d managed to tell her she looked gorgeous, and had been rewarded with a blush and a shy “Thank you.” Then she had slipped on a lightweight, loose cardigan and had ushered him out onto the back deck without another word. Tom had smiled at this, been unable to keep his mind from the fact that she was internationally recognized as a beautiful woman—had been told so millions of times, and yet his words still seemed to have a surprising effect her. He tried not to read into it. Tried not to let himself think about any of it too much.

“No. It’s not. The company is okay too.” She shrugged. Tom smiled, looking away. They had talked easily during dinner. Nothing too serious or interesting. Just regular day to day stuff. He told her about work, and about the fit that Gemma had thrown the other night before bed. Billie had told him about an offer she’d gotten to do a show on Broadway (which she said she wouldn’t take).

By the time they’d finished dinner, the full moon was out. Billie lit a candle on the middle of the table, and they settled back in the glow.

“How are you settling in?” Tom asked. He watched as Billie stood up, and moved and pushed her chair around the table until it was next to his. She smiled at him, and then sat down, crossing one leg over the other.

“I’m settling.” She sighed, wrapping her cardigan around her as the breeze picked up.

“Are you cold? Do you want to go in?” Tom reached over, covering her hand momentarily with his. Her hand was warm, and when he touched her, she ran her thumb up and over the side of his.

“I’m fine. It’s nice out here.” She looked at him, her white blond hair blowing gently back and then across her face. He fought the urge to reach up, and tuck the hair back and away from her face. He knew it was too intimate a gesture. Something he shouldn’t be tempted to do.

“Do you miss it, then?” He looked away, trying to keep his mind off her hair and how much he wanted to touch it. She still had her hand on his, her thumb rubbing small circles against his skin.

“Parts of it. I know it’s still there though. I miss the music, but not everything else.” She said softly, her voice carrying over the sound the ocean waves.

“Think you’ll go back soon? Can’t keep it on hold forever.” He said, trying to keep his voice light, easy going. He looked at her then, her profile in the moon and candlelight. She looked straight ahead, then lowered her eyes at his question, her lashes soft and full against her cheeks.

“Is that what I’m doing? Putting it on hold?” She sighed and then looked at Tom, her eyes dark, her jaw set. “Can I ask you a question? That you’ll give me an honest answer to?” Billie pressed her lips together for a second, her eyes searching his face. Tom nodded, knowing he could never truly lie to her. He wasn’t the sort to begin with, and with her…well…

“Sure.” He moved his hand from hers, and Billie sat up straighter and leaned in toward him.

“Shorty, my manager, has been on damage control because…because of the video.” She looked nervous for a second, and then something else. Embarrassed, perhaps. Maybe ashamed. Tom felt his stomach tighten. A strange coil of anger unfurled inside of him at the thought of what had happened to her. At the fact that he could do nothing to help.

“He wants me to release an apology. For letting everyone down. For being a poor role model for my younger fans. For bad judgement. For the whole thing.” She bit her lip, and Tom watched as she, most likely unconsciously, balled her hands up in her lap. Her shoulders tensed and she looked away. “I get it. I did let people down. I know little girls…little girls like Gemma, look up to me. But…” Her voice broke, but she shook her head and when she spoke next, she was steady. “But I don’t know why I should apologize for something that was stolen from me.” She finished, and then hesitantly looked back at Tom. The mention of Gemma made his throat tighten, and he fought for a second to keep his emotions in check.

“What do you think? I’d really like to know. Rachel will tell me anything I want to hear. I love her, but when it comes to my career, she just wants whatever is easiest for me. I can’t bear to ask Sam. And well…that’s all I’ve got to ask.” She sighed and Tom watched as she clasped her hands in her lap, her body stiff as a board next to him. He took a second, trying to focus his thoughts and then managed to speak.

“I’m probably the last person in the world that should be giving you advice. But, honestly, Billie… I think that you’ve got nothing to apologize for. To put it plainly, you were violated—your privacy, your trust. Your manager may have your career in mind, but he doesn’t have you in mind. Please, I beg you, to listen to your own opinion and do what you want. And as far as little girls that look up to you go, I think apologizing for it would be the wrong message to send. Whoever released that video is in the wrong, not you. Not you in the least bit. But, that’s just my opinion.” He spoke quickly, quietly, not wanting to push anything onto her. Billie sat quietly, listening, her eyes glued to his face as he spoke.

He stilled, watching her reaction, not sure if he’d said the right thing. Billie looked down for a second, and then she looked up at him, her eyes big, and watery.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, broken with emotion. “All people see when they look at me anymore is…that video. I’m just a lonely, naked woman who was trying to entertain her…bastard, cheating boyfriend.” She rolled her eyes, obviously frustrated with herself as a tear fell from her eye. She reached up, brushing it roughly away and shaking her head. Tom’s thoughts raced, taking in this new, albeit heartbreaking information.

“Billie.”

“It’s all they see. It’s all I am anymore.” She swallowed hard.

“That’s not true. That’s not true at all.” Tom reached for her, not able to stop himself. He reached up, touching her chin lightly before finally, brushing the hair from the side of her face, letting the silky strands slip through his fingers as he tucked it behind her ear. Billie stilled, letting him touch her, relaxing ever so slightly against his hand.

“Tell me it won’t always be like this. Please.” She whispered, then reached up and wrapped one hand gently around his forearm. She felt delicate against him.

“Love, it won’t always be like this.” He said softly back. He would do anything he could to make sure his words were true.

Billie moved quickly, and slowly at the same time. She moved from her chair and slid into his lap, and Tom welcomed her, opening his arms as she wrapped herself around him. She was light, but solid in his arms. Real. He pulled her against him, as she took his face in her hands, and pressed her mouth gently against his. The kiss was soft, gentle for a brief second, before she opened her mouth, nudging his open with hers as she slid her tongue against his. Her moan was soft, barely audible, but Tom felt it through his body to his bones.

Jesus. It had been awhile. It had been more than awhile. Tom felt Billie move against him, her thighs pressed against his as she stood up, briefly, and then sat back down on his lap, straddling him this time. She leaned back, away from him as she slowly let her cardigan slip off her shoulders, and then fall to the floor behind her. She was a vision—her smooth, milky skin nearly glowing in the moonlight. She was all round curves and glowing skin.

He sat back, watching her, before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. He didn’t know where to put his hands. He wanted to put them everything. First in her hair, messing it up, all the visions from late night dreams coming back to him—her, in his bed, her hair a crazy mess, all because of what they’d been doing, things he’d done to her. Tom wrapped his hands in her long hair, tugging ever so gently. Billie responded, tilting her head back and exposing her long, slender throat to him.

He leaned forward, looking at her like she was some sort of delicious dessert. He kissed his way from her chin to her clavicle, tasting her sweet skin, doing whatever he could to elicit more of those nearly heart exploding noises from her. Billie had her hands on his shoulders, and he felt her dig her fingertips into his muscles as her thighs squeezed responsively around him.

He hadn’t expected this. Maybe in his wildest dreams he had hoped for this. But he hadn’t expected it. Tom ran his hands over her arms, just as Billie sat up, pushing him back in the chair. She pushed hard on his chest, and he sat back, as she sat up. She was beautiful. More than beautiful. She had a quiet confidence about her that was intoxicating.

Billie reached for his hands, bringing them gently to her bare thighs. She placed them firmly against her skin, and Tom watched as she lolled her head back slightly at his touch, closing her eyes, her lush mouth opened just slightly. Jesus. He was in trouble. She kept her hands steady on his, guiding him slowly up her smooth thighs. Their hands pushed at the hem of her dress, which had already been pushed up as she’d straddled him, and Billie stopped them just as they were almost to her upper thighs. She grasped his hands and he gave her sumptuous thighs a squeeze.

“I know this is a bad idea.” She leaned forward, whispered into his ear. Tom responded by nipping her earlobe. Billie laughed and then wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her chest toward his chin. Tom groaned, unable to stop himself, and brought his hands to her waist.

“I know. I know it’s a bad idea. But I can’t stop thinking about you. And I’ve been wrong before.” He laughed and Billie giggled, then lowered her head and began kissing her way down his neck. Tom relaxed at her touch, his hands barely grazing her waist, hovering slightly as he lost himself in the sensation of her touch.

“Touch me. Please,Tom.” She reached back, grabbing his hands and bringing them down on her waist.

“God, you don’t know how much—“ His words were drowned out by a kiss, deep and passionate. He groaned and cupped her face, holding her to him. Billie ran her hands down his chest, reached between them and tugged his shirt out from his pants. He felt her slip her hands under, touching his stomach. She moaned, relaxing against him, and breaking there kiss. She steadied herself against him, her breath short and fast as she pressed her hands against his stomach and sides.

“Oh, god. I’ve wanted to touch you. For so long.” She whispered. He tensed slightly at her words, surprised by them. Surprised that she’d felt it as well. The space between them, ever occupied by an attraction, a magnetism that had no real words or explanation. They were from two separate worlds, but they felt so right together. An anxiety that could only be soothed by physical touch.

“Keep touching me. And I’ll return the favor.” He said with a hint of a laugh, his voice low and rough. Billie smiled and leaned forward, kissing him as she pulled her hands from under his shirt and began unbuttoning it. Tom held his breath, feeling her delicate fingers as they worked, clumsy with lust, at his buttons. He wanted to help her, but then, he was sort of enjoying the struggle. He kept kissing her instead, and kept his hands busy at her waist, and then her thighs, and then up, running over her chest and cupping her breasts in his hands. He felt her through the thin fabric of her dress, realizing then that she wasn’t wearing a bra. She was soft, lush and seemed to fit perfectly in his hands.

Billie arched against him, whimpering softly as he touched her, finally. She managed to finish unbuttoning his shirt, opening it up and running her hands against his skin. She leaned down, kissing his chest, letting out soft little humming moans as she did. He set his head back against the chair, groaning as he bunched her skirt up in his hands, then pushed his hands up her thighs.

Tom stilled as Billie’s hands ran over his waist, her fingertips dipped teasingly just beneath his waistband.

“You’re going to have to go easy on me, darling.” He reached for her, running his hands up and down her arms. “It’s been awhile.” He said with a laugh. Billie sat up, wiggling against him as she took his hand and pressed it against her face, nuzzling against him before kissing his palm.

“Oh? How long has it been, Tom?” She smiled against his hand. He shook his head, smiling lazily at her.

“Come on. Two months? Three? Six?” She teased him, her hands still at his waist.

“Try years. Three of them.” He raised his eyebrows at her and then laughed, when he saw her face change.

“Three years?” She asked, incredulous. He rolled his eyes and then laughed, both of them finding it funny.

“I’ve been busy.” He breathed, then cursed under his breath. Billie cooed and then leaned forward, brushing her nose against his cheek before pressing a kiss to his mouth.

“That is a long time. Is it still gonna work?” She giggled against him, and Tom nearly howled, grumbling as he launched them both off of the chair, grabbing her around the waist and thighs as he picked her up. Billie shrieked, laughing as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She couldn’t stop laughing, giggling and nipping him gently on the neck as he tried not to laugh. Tom groaned roughly, threatening jokingly to throw her in the ocean, before he backed them up quickly, pushing her against the side of the house.

The laughter died down quickly as he pressed her up against the wall, his hands had found their way under her dress, grasping her bare ass and thigh, as Billie kept her legs wrapped around his waist. He pushed his hips into hers, as she took a deep, wavering breath, and he kissed her, fiercely and passionately.

“I don’t know. You tell me.” He said gruffly. Their mouths crushed together, tongues fighting for touch, lips hungry and desperate. She pushed her hands roughly through his hair, yanking as he held her up with one arm, and then used the other to reach up, and cup her through her dress, running his thumb roughly over her already hardened nipple.

“Tom. Oh!” Billie breathed into his ear, then grabbed his shoulders. He set her down, gently, her knees buckling ever so slightly as he did.

“Inside?” He asked, putting both hands firmly against the wall by either side of her head. Billie nodded, then reached up, tugging gently on his opened shirt as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him again.

“Well. Looks like I’m interrupting something.” The voice came out of nowhere, and surprised them both so much that Billie let out a little shriek, and they somehow knocked their heads together as they pulled apart from each other. Tom was instantly aware that he was standing half dressed, and Billie looked rather rumpled as well, and the person who had spoken was a complete stranger.

Billie looked shocked for a minute, and then she was pushing her hair back from her face, tugging at her sundress and walking forward rather quickly.

“What are you…what are you doing here?” She said, stopping in front of the man. Ah, so she knew him. Tom began buttoning his shirt, watching both Billie’s body language and the strangers as they spoke. He only looked to be in his mid or late thirties. He had dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He was on the shorter side, maybe 5’8” or 5’9”, if that. And he was definitely not dressed for the beach. He had on a slim cut black suit, no jacket, and a fitted dress shirt.

Billie looked tense as she spoke to him in hushed, rushed tones. Tom stayed back for a moment, but then began to make his way forward as he saw her start to get more agitated.

“Billie? Is everything okay?” He asked, frowning. She obviously knew this guy. And from the looks of him, he was someone from Los Angeles. Billie turned around quickly, almost looking surprised to see Tom, as if she’d forgotten he was there. As if they hadn’t just been making out two minutes ago.

“Tom. I’m sorry.” She sighed and suddenly looked very tired. She reached forward, taking his hand and tugging him toward her.

“Tom, this is my manager, Shorty. Shorty, this is my friend, Tom.” She introduced them, and Tom leaned forward, shaking the outstretched hand of the man in front of him. Ah, Shorty. The infamous Shorty. Tom wondered if his ears had been burning earlier that night.

“Nice to meet you, man.” Shorty said with a curt nod. “Baby, looks like you’ve been making more-than-friends.” He said with a wide, toothy grin. Billie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Stay out of it, Shorty.” She murmured. “So what are you doing here?” Tom watched as she clenched her jaw. She was obviously unhappy that Shorty was there, and Tom couldn’t say he felt differently.

“You wouldn’t come back home, so I thought I’d come to you. We’ve got a lot of work to do, Baby. I’ve got offers banging down my door. Not just for interviews, and hour long television specials. But huge tours, and acting gigs—not just porno.” Shorty laughed, but neither Tom nor Billie joined in. “So here I am. You can’t run forever, Baby.” He held open his hands, shrugging his shoulders. Tom felt uneasy around him, and immediately his guard went up. He fought the urge to sweep in, and just about pick Billie up and take her back to his house.

But this was her call. It was her manager, someone she’d obviously worked with for a long time. Someone she trusted. Maybe first impressions weren’t always right. Maybe.

“You’re right. I guess I can’t run forever.” Billie said, her voice suddenly sounding small and worried.


	16. 15: two worlds, names, the wrong shoes

I feel my cheeks burn as I turn around. Shorty is sitting on the couch, sprawled on it like he owns it, his hawk like eyes watching me.

“What?” I just said goodnight to Tom, feeling a mixture of embarrassment, anxiety and confusion coursing through me. This is not how I had expected to end my night with him. Not at all. Tom had been good natured about it, as he is about almost all things. He’d was sweet, even. Which made it all the harder to say goodnight to him, and then promptly shut the door, returning back to Shorty’s annoyed scowl.

Shorty had threatened, quite a few times, in the last few weeks that he was going to come and drag me back to California, but I’d never believed him. Little towns aren’t really his thing. If me coming back to Delaware was like two worlds colliding, Shorty being here feels like two worlds imploding.

“So, what’s his name? Is it serious? Are you in love? Babies? Dog? White picket fence?” Shorty tilts his head to the side, smiling sweetly and blinking at me as he throws the questions my way. I cross my arms over my chest, annoyed. I’ve known Shorty for a long, long time. We don’t really have any secrets. But maybe that should start to change.   I used to tell him everything, whether it was personal or business related, as soon as it happened. And for some reason, now, I don’t feel really feel like talking about Tom. Especially not with him.

“Shut up.” I roll my eyes and walk away, into the kitchen to get a drink. It would be nice if there was something stronger than wine in the house, but I distinctly remember finishing off the whiskey with Sam and Rachel two nights ago. Instead, I pour myself a glass of wine, not offering Short any as he stomps into the kitchen.

“I mean, you’re kidding me, right? Do you even know this guy?” Shorty asks, his voice tired and mean. “You’re just bored, right?” He is totally serious. I turn and glare at him, but I don’t say anything. I know anything I say will fuel the fire. And honestly, maybe Shorty has a tiny, itty bitty point. I’m not bored. But, a relationship, of any kind, is probably the last thing I need.

“Baby. Stuff like this is why we are in this shit in the first place. I’ve been working my ass off for you. Trying to clean up. And you’re here, in Bumfuck, Nowhere, getting to second base with some random local.” He crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking my stance, as I feel my blood start to boil. I’m angry. But I’m also sad. Because I was just having one of the best evenings I’ve had in a long time, and then Shorty came crashing in, bringing reality back hard and cold. It’s not really his fault though. I’ve been avoiding him like the plague.

“His name is Tom. He’s not random.” I say softly with a sigh. Shorty groans and leans against the counter.

“As long as you don’t send him any videos.”

“Fuck off.” I brush past Shorty, and out into the small living room.

“Come on, Baby. Give us a hug. It’s been over a month since I’ve seen you. You look good. Tan. More tan than I’ve ever seen you, in fact. Which is weird considering your house in California is so close to the beach—“ Shorty coos after me, his voice slipping into a slightly more needy, kinder tone.

“I’m tan because they let me go outside here.” I shoot back at him, plopping down on the couch. He huffs and stands at the doorway, watching me. It is so strange having him here. I feel forced back into the world I’ve been running away from.

“Don’t be like that.” He grunts and then comes and sits down next to me. We are quiet for a minute. Shorty is looking around the room, taking in the scenery. Rachel and Sam’s house is much different than my own. It’s warm. Comfortable. Full of things that mean something to them. At my house in California, Shorty had a decorator come in and furnish and design everything. It feels more like a show room than a home.

“What are you doing here? I’m not ready to come back.” I say after a minute, glancing over at him. It’s the honest truth. I’m not ready. Shorty leans down, pulling a piece of lint off his suit.

“Alright, well if you’re not coming back then we’ve got to get some work done here. Emails to go through. Offers to accept or decline. And you’ve got a meeting with the label. Your contract is up soon. They want to know what we’re doing.” He takes a deep breath and purses his lips, lost in thought. “We can do a conference call. But we have to do it, Baby. I can’t wait any longer.” He reaches over, takes my hand and squeezes it, trying to be reassuring. All he’s really doing, is making me feel panicky.

I haven’t seen him in weeks, and it’s strange to look at him, almost with fresh eyes. He’s about ten years older than me, but he doesn’t look it. He keeps himself in good shape, always dressed to the nines and groomed perfectly. I know he gets a haircut every four weeks. He gets a manicure every two. He’s most likely wearing an outfit that was tailor made for him. I used to admire that about him. How he seemed to have it so together, all the time. It’s sort of a necessity to live and work in Los Angeles. A necessity that I wasn’t always so good at. He kept me on a regular schedule of nail, hair and personal trainer appointments, so it had been easy. He wanted his clients to look just as good as him. In fact, it was a reflection of him.

Now, sitting here, my minds drifts to Tom, who is most likely walking home. I think about his hair, how messy it gets after a day at the beach, crawling in the sand and hoisting Gemma over waves. The way he runs his hands through the side of it when he’s thinking, or when he’s bothered by something. I think about his comfortable, worn in clothes. I know he doesn’t have the money to splurge on new things. And anything extra he does get, he puts toward Gemma. Even if he did have the money, I don’t think clothes would be his high on his list of things to buy. I think about his hands. His neat, short nails. The slightly rough spots from the constant upkeep of two homes—his and Rosie’s. Last weekend, he’d sanded and painted peeling doors. The week before, he was replacing wooden garden walls around the worn exterior of Rosie’s home. I think about the bruise on his shin from where he had yet another run in with a “parking lot” full of toy cars.

Two worlds. Both places I live. I’m not sure which one I belong in anymore.

 

 ****

 

Tom kept pace with Sam, neither of them speaking much as they made their way down the beach. It was earlier than their usual run, but neither of them had classes that day, for the first time in awhile and they were both keen on getting an early start to the remainder of their short summer break.

“How was your trip?” Tom asked. They were keeping a good pace, but he wasn’t out of breath. Sam nodded, the sound of the ocean and their feet pounding on the packed sand was the only noise around them. It was barely after six in the morning, so there was no one else on the beach.

“Fantastic. Just got to spend time with Rach. God, I love that woman.” Sam grinned at Tom and then laughed. Tom reached over, smacking Sam on the arm with a smile. They’d already run nearly a mile, but Tom had a feeling they’d go for at least another two or three. Sam seemed energetic, and Tom needed to release some energy. And pent up…frustration.

“You’re lucky, mate.” Tom said, looking forward. Sam nodded in agreement, but was quiet, thoughtful.

“How was your weekend?” He asked after a beat. Tom nodded, looking out toward the surf as they ran. He wasn’t totally sure how to answer that question. His weekend had in turn, been one of the best one he’d had in quite some time, and also the worst.

Of course, she hadn’t left his mind. Not since she’d sat down on his lap, pressed her soft curves against him, and kissed him within an inch of his life. All this before asking him if he could even still get it up…then simply killing him with the sweet, alluring way she’d teased him after.

She should have been like anyone else. Just another pretty face. A lost woman, looking for a semblance of home. Of normality. And at first, that’s what he’d been sure she was. A blip on the radar. She was definitely intelligent, and talented. He could see why she was successful, why people felt inexplicably drawn to her, her voice and her looks. She was ethereal. He had written her off, at first, as just another product of her career and the business she thrived in.

But then…then she’d spoken. And he’d felt her look at him, look totally through him, and nearly rip his heart out with her honesty. Billie was lost. She was hurt. But she most definitely was not broken. And he found nearly everything about her to be fascinating.

“Alright. I saw Billie the other night. We had dinner.” Tom finally answered Sam’s question, looking straightforward as he did. He could feel his friend’s focus turn on him, though to his credit, Sam didn’t say anything.

“Out with it.” Tom said with a low grunt, glancing over at Sam. Sam didn’t often hold back his opinion, so it sort of surprised Tom that he was going to have to drag it out of him. Sam shrugged, then made a noise as if he was going to launch into a speech, but didn’t.

“So what is it, do you think? A summer thing? Or something else? It’s been awhile for you, man. I know that.” Sam asked, getting right to it. Tom pushed the pace a bit more, wondering if maybe they ran harder and faster, there would be less talking.

“I don’t know. I can’t seem to…get her out of my head.” He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge Billie from his thoughts. Sam laughed then, loudly.

“Bee has that way with people, you know? It’s no wonder she’s so popular. So successful. She’s got something about her. Rach has it too, but hers is different. Billie can’t help but turn heads.” Sam looked over at Tom, who nodded.

“And I don’t like that guy. Shorty.” He couldn’t stop himself. He needed to know what Sam thought of the new visitor. Sam snorted, and kept running.

“You and me both, man. Billie swears by him. But I think he’s a douche. I know they do it differently on the West Coast, but he just rubs me the wrong way. And he’s been around constantly the past week. Thank god he’s not staying with us, but he might as well be. He’s there when I get up, and there when I leave.” Sam breathed heavily, as Tom took his information in. No wonder he hadn’t spoken to Billie. She’d obviously been preoccupied.

“Am I being an idiot, Sam?” He asked softly, looking over to meet Sam’s eyes and raised brow. Sam shook his head and then began to slow down, until they were at a slow jog. Tom matched him, waiting on his friend to answer. His opinion meant a lot to him. Sam had been the one to urge him to really look into adopting Gemma. He’d been the one to suggest staying in Delaware.

“I don’t know, man. Billie is…in a weird place. I don’t know what to tell you. I think she really does like you though. But, then again, I’ve never seen her in a relationship, of any kind. So I’m not sure what that’s like for her. I just think you should be careful. I know I’m probably telling you things you’ve already considered. But I know Gemma is your number one concern. And I’d hate to see her get too attached. You too.” Sam said gently. He didn’t say it explicitly, but the meaning was there. Tom nodded and looked away, then turned and headed them both back down the beach.

The meaning of Sam’s words were apparent. Don’t get attached. Billie wasn’t here to stay. Of course she wasn’t. She had a house, a career, a life back in Los Angeles. This place, this town, was just a momentary distraction—a place to get some R&R before heading back to real life. He was more than likely just a tiny part of that puzzle.

“Thanks, mate.” Tom said flippantly, and then pushed forward, bringing them back up to a rather grueling, punishing pace.

 

 ****

 

“Gemma. Shoes. Now.” Tom pointed toward the hallway, where he knew at least three pairs of Gemma’s tiny shoes were, just waiting to trip some poor, half asleep soul (aka him) in the middle of the night.

“I don’t want to. No.” Gemma shook her head, her dark curls shaking around her round face. She bunched her hands at her sides, and then sunk defiantly to the ground, landing like a sack of potatoes. Tom blinked and then put a hand on his hip.

“You don’t want to go to a cook out? See Rach and Sam? And Billie?” He asked, hesitant to say Billie’s name for a moment. He hadn’t seen her since their dinner. Since Shorty had come to town. And that was almost a week ago. He wasn’t even totally sure she’d be there tonight. Sam had invited them over just a few hours ago, and Tom had agreed, thinking Gemma would enjoy it. She normally loved seeing them.

“No.” Gemma said, offering no other explanation. Tom took a deep breath, checked the time on the clock over the stove. They were already late, though he knew it wasn’t a huge deal. These things were pretty casual. But it was nearing seven, and he could tell Gemma would need to go to bed early that night, judging by her theatrics.

“Well, unfortunately for you, we are going to go, and we’re going to have a good time. I’m starving, aren’t you? Hot dogs, Gems. And then we can come home, and go to bed.” He tried to reason with her, not sure if she was going to go into full histrionics or just stay at a mid-level grump.

“I don’t want to go to bed.” She grunted. Well, now she was just being disagreeable to be disagreeable.

“Right. Well, first we’re going to the cookout, then we go to bed.” He reached for her, taking her under the arms to try and lift her to her feet. Gemma screeched, leaning back and thrashing her arms and legs, big crocodile tears forming at the sides of her eyes. She arched her back, with such strength that Tom had to nearly catch her from rearing back and smacking her head on the wood floor.

“Gemma!” Tom exclaimed, setting her as gently as he could on the floor. The tantrums were a relatively new thing, and he hadn’t quite gotten used to them. Sometimes they would go into full blown hysterics, but more often than not he could talk her out of it. He sunk down onto the ground next to Gemma, who had collapsed into a heap, curled up like a tiny shrimp. She was breathing heavily, on the verge of real tears, but she had stopped screeching. He pulled his legs up, leaning down slightly to try and see her face. He could see her watching him, through her mass of dark hair.

“Tell me, little rhino. Why so angry?” He whispered, leaning back against the wall. She narrowed her eyes at him, her hands covering most of her face. He felt his heart clench, and then he leaned forward on his legs, resting his chin on his hands.

He knew why she was upset, even if she didn’t. Things had felt off the past few days. Past few weeks. There were a lot of new changes. He was slowly keeping her over at his house more and more, trying to make the transition as easy as possible, but he could tell it was tough on her. She loved Rosie. And while he wasn’t trying to take her from Rosie, or keep them apart, both he and Rosie had decided that Gemma should try and transition to living with him full time. It just made more sense. Rosie was getting older. And Gemma was getting more and more active, more and more of a handful. Rosie just couldn’t quite keep up anymore. They still saw each other nearly every day, but Tom had taken over all the major responsibilities.

Gemma had picked up on it nearly immediately. She cried for Rosie occasionally at night, and it totally broke Tom’s heart.

He couldn’t help but doubt himself. Doubt the choices he’d made. Not the decision to adopt her—he’d never doubt that, but whether it truly was the right thing. He just wanted what was best for Gems. He knew it was just a momentary hiccup, and that she’d adjust. But he worried he was doing some sort of long term damage. Gemma already had to fight with the idea that her mother was nearly absent from her life. And now her whole routine, her whole home, was changing.

And then there was Billie. Gemma asked about her, at least a few times a day. She’d really left an impression on the little girl. Probably because she was the first woman that he’d ever had around. In the early days, back when Gemma was a baby, and Becca had just left, he’d gone on a rather heartless, soulless binge of women. Anyone who was willing, just to keep his mind off of the mess that his life had become.

Gemma was barely a glimmer on his radar at the time. He’d just been nursing a broken, confused, angry heart, and the realization that he’d moved halfway across the world for a woman he hadn’t truly known. And was now stuck in a place he didn’t know or understand, with debts that he’d probably never pay off, a woman who could be his grandmother, and a baby that didn’t really seem to belong to anyone.

Then he’d met Sam. And Rachel. And they’d somehow talked him down from the ledge. Sam had done it with a lot of harmless, drunken nights and rambling talks. Rachel had done it with common sense, and a soothing calm that only the Darling women seemed to have.

And ever since then, he’d been careful not to bring anyone around Gemma. There hadn’t been anyone to bring. Except here was Billie. And Gemma seemed to sense that something was off. Or maybe just not how it should be. Because Billie hadn’t been around to dig for sand crabs, and Tom hadn’t had her over for spaghetti dinner. And Gemma, in her infinite five year old wisdom, had noticed.

“Can we watch Snowman, Tommy?” Gemma asked, looking up at him with big, wide eyes. He reached forward, brushing her messy hair from her little, sweaty face. The Snowman movie that she always went back to in times of happiness, sadness, insecurity.

“Sure, little lady. Let’s go get some dinner, first, okay? Sam and Rach are going to miss you if we don’t come.” He said gently, and Gemma sat up, having calmed herself down. She leaned forward, scooted on her bum across the floor, and wrapped herself around Tom’s legs. He reached for her, gently rubbing her back, feeling the small, strong bones in her shoulders and back. She pressed her face against his knee, closing her eyes.

“Why is your name Tom?” Gemma asked, opening her eyes after a moment. Her question took him aback, and he paused, his hand resting on her shoulder. She looked at him, waiting patiently, her eyes full of questions. He tilted his head down toward her, and then frowned slightly.

“That’s the name my parents gave me. I hope you can meet them someday. They named me Thomas after my grandfather. So that’s why. I’m Tom. You’re Gemma.” He smiled, and reached forward and booped her gently on the nose. Gemma grinned, giggled and then sat up. She moved as only a child can—with a surprising grace that is just on the brink of losing all control and coordination. Gemma sat down on Tom’s lap, wrapped her small arms around his neck and nuzzled against him. He sighed, holding her to him. No, he would never, ever doubt his decision to adopt her. That had been the best decision, the most important one, of his life.

“I don’t want to call you Tom anymore. I’m going to call you Daddy.” Her words were simple, and she was confident in them. It wasn’t a question, or a request. It was something that she’d somehow worked out, in her small but fierce, ever changing and growing mind, and had come to the conclusion on her own.

He was silent, more from the inability to talk than from loss of words.

Tom hugged Gemma, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She squirmed against him, and then pushed off his lap, getting up and running down the hallway.

“Where are you going?” He called after her, his voice slightly hoarse.

“To get my cookie monster sandals.” She called back, her voice high, light and completely oblivious to the joyous, amazing, wreck of emotions she’d just left in Tom’s wake. She was back in an instant, tiny feet thundering on wooden floorboards. Tom pressed a hand to his mouth, watching her as she plopped onto the floor next to him and proceeded to shove her right foot into her left sandal.

“Gems, let me.” He reached for her, and Gemma swatted him away, shaking her head determinedly.

“I can do it.” She looked up at him, smiling and then kept shoving the wrong foot into her sandal. He grinned, ruffled a hand through her hair and roughly brushed away wetness at the corners of his eyes as he quickly swapped out the sandal for the correct one.

“Yes, you can.” He said softly.


	17. 16: sundaes, flights and the end of the world

I feel my stomach churn slightly as I step out onto the deck. It’s hot out, humid and the air seems still and stifling. Or maybe that is my mood. It was a good idea in theory. Rachel had suggested the cookout. But then Sam had invited Tom, Rosie and Gemma.

And of course, Shorty is still here. He’s been here all week. Hovering. We managed to sort through most of the “business” that he was so worried about. I turned down practically everything. Everything except an unpublicized visit to a hospital that treated children and young adults with cancer. I could feel his annoyance with me as I shook my head ‘no’ over and over. I knew why he was annoyed. Frustrated as well. I’m not sure if that even begins to describe how he felt.

I turned down People _, Elle, Vogue, Vanity Fair_ and Oprah’s magazine, and even Oprah herself. I turned down _Ellen_ , and every pseudo-news show that focuses entirely on the plight of celebrities. I turned down millions of dollars in offers, and I didn’t regret it at all. I still don’t. It seemed timely too, that as I turned down all these offers, I received a call from my accountant informing me that I’d already made over a quarter million dollars from the stolen video sales. In just a few months. The internet is a terrifying and insane place.

Then there was the business of the record label. They wanted to resign me for three new albums in the next two years. They wanted a new single out within the month, one that touched ever so discreetly on what had been happening with me. In other words, they were just as keen to cash in on me as everyone else.

I haven’t said “No” to them. Not yet. I’ve a soft spot for my label, as they are the ones that truly gave me the opportunity to sing for a living. I’m just not sure I can do what they are asking anymore. I’m also afraid if I tell Shorty what I really want to do, he might have a heart attack. When I told him I wanted to think about it some more, he was angry. My stomach hurt by the end of the day from all the business talk, the realization that I really had neglected my career, my “brand” for over a month.

Perfect day for a cookout!

“Thanks, Bee.” Rachel takes the salad from me, placing it on the big table. I sit down in one of the deck chairs and I try not to look at Shorty, who is continuously checking his phone. He’s not as mad at me anymore, but I can tell he’s still in business mode.

“Beer, Bee? Shorty?” Sam comes out with multiple beers in his hands, condensation running down the sides of the bottles. I take one, and Shorty does as well, only briefly looking up from his phone.

“Thanks Sam.” I say softly.

“Good afternoon, lovelies!” Rosie’s sing song voice carries across the deck, and I look up as I see her coming up the stairs. She’s carrying a bowl of something, and holds tightly to the railing as she makes her way up. I stand up, walking over to her quickly and meeting her halfway down, taking the bowl from her to make it easier. She still gets around easily, but occasionally her balance can be off.

“Thank you, Billie, darling!” She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling. She always gets a kick out of calling me that.

“You look nice, Rosie.” I say, and glance down the stairs. I can see Tom, just a few yards away. He’s stopped, but he’s talking to a much smaller figure, who looks to be lying flat in the sand.

“Oh, this old thing?” Rosie smiles as we reach the top of the stairs. She notices me looking out toward Tom and Gemma and she laughs softly, shaking her head. Tom is pointing from the sand up to where we are standing, like he’s directing airplanes as they land.

“Gemma is in a mood. Kicking and screaming her way here. Tom’s at his wits end. I thought I’d give them a minute.” She sighs and then walks over to give Rachel a hug. I keep my eyes on Tom. He’s far enough away that I can’t hear him, but judging from his posture, he’s frustrated. I stand, hesitant, at the top of the stairs. He looks up, shrugs his shoulders and raises his hands in surrender, and then turns back to the tiny figure flailing in the sand.

“I’m going to go make sure they’re okay.” I call over my shoulder. Rachel is getting Rosie settled into a chair. Sam grunts in return, as he’s too busy trying to light the grill.

I hear Rosie chatting to Shorty, as I make my way down the stairs. It seems strange, hearing her and him talking about the weather, but weirder things have happened.

I jog across the sand, making my way toward the two figures. As I get closer, I can hear Gemma. She’s crying, wailing almost, lying on her back in the sand, her legs and arms flailing about. She’s having a full on tantrum.

Tom turns to me as I get closer. He looks both panicked and resolved at the same time. As if he doesn’t quite know what to do, but he’s done this before and he knows it’ll be okay. Maybe.

“Hi there.” I say. Gemma must hear me because she momentarily stops wailing and listens. Tom blinks, and then walks over to me, leaving Gemma a few feet away.

“The world is ending, apparently.” He meets me with a small smile, and eyes so blue they are giving the sky a run for their money.

“I see.” I smile, and suddenly feel a warm rush to my stomach and chest. I’m nervous about seeing him again. I haven’t spoken to him since the night we had dinner. I told myself it was because I was too busy, and figuring out what to do with Shorty being around. But the truth is, I didn’t want to see him. That night had been fun, and unexpected and…sexy. Until Shorty had shown up, of course. And the idea that Tom was attached to all of that, just made my head feel as if it was pulled off and put on backwards. I needed some time away. Some time to clear my thoughts. I’ve had time, and yet I’m still as cloudy as ever.

“She’s having a rough day. I thought it’d be okay to bring her over, but maybe we should have stayed in.” He crosses his arms over his chest, glancing back at Gemma. She’s quiet now, but I can see her little chest heaving from all the crying. It’s the somewhat fake, theatric sort that five year olds are so good at. She’s upset, but she’s not sure why, and it all comes out as angry, attention seeking wails. I feel for her though, as I know the frustration is rooted somewhere. A part of me wants to go and join her, kicking and screaming in the sand. You and me both, kid.

“Can I try to talk to her?” I ask, glancing up at him. He nods, his eyes wide.

“Be my guest.” He says softly. I pat his arm as I walk by, and he briefly covers my hand with his. The urge to touch him is strong, but I push it aside as I walk away.

“Gems? Gemma?” I move slowly, approaching her like some sort of wild animal. She responds, looking at me with big, teary eyes. She’s an adorable little girl, and my heart clenches tightly in my chest. She’s quiet, watching me as I walk over.

“Hey lady.” I sit down next to her. She makes a tiny, whimpering noise in acknowledgement.

“Hi, Billie.” She manages.

“What’s going on? Why so sad?” I ask. She looks at me, but doesn’t say anything. She shakes her head, squeezes her eyes shut as a big tear falls.

“Daddy said I had to eat hot dogs. Him said I had to, or no ice cream. I don’t…want to!” She wails, and makes a low grunting noise, fit for a full grown adult in the midst of some sort of demonic possession. My eyes widen and I look at Tom, trying not to laugh. Then I blink, her words settling in.

“Daddy?” I mouth the word at him, soundlessly. Tom smiles, slowly, and looks down and away, almost bashfully. He looks back after a second, and his eyes are so full of love, that I nearly want to burst. I grin at him, and then look back at Gemma, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.

“Gemma. You love hot dogs.” I say gently. She thrashes her head back and forth and grunts again.

“Please? For me? Let’s go onto the deck. I’ll find you a nice seat, you can have some dinner, and then I’ll make you a sundae.” I reach for her, and gently, hesitantly touch her forehead, brushing her wild hair from her sweaty little face. She has sand on the side of her cheek, and neck, and all over her arms. I gently brush the sand from her cheeks, and push her hair from her eyes. She seems to relax under my touch, her breathing slowly slightly, and her tears stop as she begins to hiccup softly.

Having children isn’t something I’ve ever really actively thought about. I figured finding a partner to have them with was more important, and since I’d yet to find that, I hadn’t let myself entertain the idea of kids. But here, sitting here in the sand, with this grumpy little sand monster, I feel that surprising kick of maternal instinct rush forward inside of me. I want to push it away. It scares me. It’s nearly threatening in it’s scariness. I have to look away from her, and focus for a second on the ocean.

“A sundae?” Gemma asks, looking at me. I nod, and smile at her, my thoughts calmer. She looks up at Tom, looking for his approval. Tom raises an eyebrow at her and then the side of his mouth twitches.

“Gemma, no more fits. You’ve got to be a big girl. If you eat your dinner, and stop the crying, then you can have ice cream.” He offers. She nods and sits up, as if this were some new concept. It’s obviously what he’s been saying all along, but sometimes it sounds better coming from someone else.

“Okay.” Gemma sighs, and brushes sand from her legs. I get onto my knees, reaching for her to help her stand up. She stands easily, and then crashes into me, wrapping her arms around my neck and hugging me fiercely. I don’t know what to say or do for a moment, so I just hug her back. I hold onto her and pick her up as I stand, sliding her to the side so she’s on my hip. She clings to my shoulder, resting her head there as she sighs heavily. Tom opens his hands, offering to take her, but I shrug him off.

“She’s exhausted. I probably should have kept her home but I…” He speaks softly, and then trails off, his unfinished sentence hanging between us. We make our way over to the deck, and I feel that impending sense of doom set back in as we walk up the stairs.

“I’m glad you came, Tom. She’ll be okay.” I offer. He smiles at me, and when we get to the top of the stairs, I feel his hand, light and nearly pressureless at the small of my back. He does it, I think, without even realizing it. It’s an intimate gesture, as he subconsciously is directing me toward a seat at the table.

I set Gemma down in a chair, and she seems tired, and complacent. Rosie gives her a bowl of fruit to start snacking on, while wiping away from sand from her arms and legs. I grab the beer I had taken a sip of, and hand it to Tom, instructing him to drink. He laughs softly, and takes a long, hearty drink from it.

He sighs softly, looks down at me as he smiles wide, his teeth white and nearly perfectly straight. He seems to relax just a bit, and then takes another drink from the bottle.

“You’re doing a good job. You really are. _Daddy_.” I say softly to him, elbowing him gently in the side as I tease. He chuckles and catches my arm in his hand, his grip cool and icy from the condensation on the beer.

“Thank you. I needed to hear that.” He sighs and shifts from one foot to the other.

We sit down after a few minutes. Shorty puts away his phone and acts sociable. He’s actually pretty good with kids, so he has Gemma laughing in no time. Which is a relief for everyone. I can tell Tom is worn out, physically and emotionally tired. She must have been pushing the boundaries all day.

Dinner is casual, and simple. We have a few salads, and Sam grills hot dogs and hamburgers. The sun sets, the last lingering light casting gold and orange through the sky. I’m surprised that conversation is so easy, and that Shorty almost fits in. Almost. He’s toned it down a bit, and since Rachel and Sam are used to him being around by now, they keep the conversation going.

We’re all sitting at the table. It’s gotten a bit late, later than I had expected everyone to stay, but we’ve had such a surprisingly nice dinner, that no one seems to be in a rush to leave. The moon is up, and Sam quickly lights tiki torches around the deck.

Gemma eats two scoops of ice cream, and then promptly passes out on the cushioned bench to the side of the table, as if the promise of ice cream were the only thing keeping her conscious. Her sandals dangle precariously from her small feet, her hands curled up by her face. She sleeps soundly, as only exhausted children can.

“She’s been…hell.” Tom says with a goodnatured laugh, shaking his head and he takes a drink of beer. Sam laughs, thumping Tom on the back.

“Well she’s yours now. So she’s getting comfortable. Letting it all hang out.” Sam grins.

“The honeymoon is over.” Rachel scrunches her nose at Tom and everyone laughs.

“It’s true though. I think she is getting comfortable. She knows that I’m not going anywhere. And things are getting more and more stable…permanent. So she’s pushing her boundaries.” He glances at Gemma as she moves in her sleep, but settles quickly back in.

“You’re doing fantastic, Tom. Don’t doubt yourself.” Rosie pipes in, her eyes sparkling as she speaks. “My niece didn’t do many things right, but you…that was one good decision she made. Even if she did screw that up, as well.” Rosie laughs, and we all join in. It shouldn’t really be funny, but if you don’t laugh, you cry. Tom doesn’t seem fazed by it, and he nods and shrugs in agreement.

“It’s true. I could never truly regret my relationship with Becca. Because it brought me to Gems, and to all of you fine people.” He raises his bottle up, and we all cheers, the mood light and lovely.

“Wait, Gemma isn’t yours?” Shorty asks, the conversation catching up to him. He looks at Tom, and Tom takes a deep breath. It’s a story he’s probably told many times, to many a stranger.

“No. My ex wife’s. I just recently adopted her.” He answers. I tense slightly, glancing at Shorty.

“Ah. That’s sort of weird, right?” Shorty laughs, shrugging. “A dude adopting his ex’s kid.” He looks at me, and I frown at him.

“It’s not weird, Shorty. Tom loves Gemma. Becca left them both.” I say, hoping he won’t dig a hole any farther.

“It’s okay, Billie.” Tom puts a hand gently on mine, and I see Shorty’s eyes flit to the contact. “It is sort of strange, I agree.” Tom says with a simple tilt of the head. “But I lived here for almost a year with Becca before she split. I got to know Rosie and Gemma. When Becca left, I considered going back too. But, I was already attached. They were my family now. I couldn’t just leave. Then I met Sam and Rach, and it sort of cemented it. That this was where I should be. Where I was needed. And things have just made even more sense ever since then. It’s not conventional, but the best things usually aren’t.” He gives a small smile, and Sam gives a “here, here!” and they clink glasses and drink. Rachel is smiling fondly at Tom, and I can barely look at him.

“That’s cool, man. Congrats. It’s not a story you often hear.” Shorty says, and then leans forward, raises his glass and salutes Tom. I clear my throat, hardly able to focus as I feel Tom’s hand, still covering mine. I feel sort of lightheaded, and I feel the anxiety creep back in.

We stay out on the deck for a bit longer. Swapping stories, making each other laugh and drinking a bit too much. No one has far to go, so it doesn’t really matter. It’s nearly half past ten, when Tom glances behind him at the passed out Gemma, and he groans softly as he moves to get up.

“I should go. Take home sleeping beauty.” He scoots his chair back, and I do the same. I need a moment alone with him.

“Have a good night, Tom. Do you want me to drive you guys back?” Sam nods toward Gemma, who is like a limp ragdoll in Tom’s arms. Tom shakes his head.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll walk Rosie home and be on my way.” He smiles. I stand up, as Rosie begins saying goodnight, hugging Rachel and Sam, and even Shorty, who is once again glued to his phone. His face is illuminated whitish blue in the dark night.

“Want some company on the walk home?” I ask, my stomach flipping. Tom looks at me, and then nods.

“Yes, I would.” He agrees. I smile, and then make my way to the other side of the deck, waiting for them.

“Baby.” Shorty calls after me. I look up, acknowledging him.

“Hm?”

“The flights are booked. So we’re ready to go.” He announces, and everyone on the deck sort of does a double take. I feel my heart pound and then thud to the ground as my sister, my brother-in-law and Tom all stop and stare at me. I press my lips together, and Shorty sort of shrinks back, realizing he’s made a mistake.

“Um. Surprise?” I say softly. Rachel steps forward, looking shocked.

“You’re leaving?” She asks, her brow creased. Sam crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yes. In a day. I…” I stammer. I don’t know why it’s so hard to say I’m leaving. Everyone knew that I wasn’t going to stay. Still, it feels wrong. And I know that they didn’t expect it to be so soon. In all honesty, neither did I.

“I have to go back.” I glance at Tom, but he won’t meet my eyes.

“I understand.” Rachel says diplomatically after a long pause. I feel terrible. I wanted to tell them all separately. Gently. Especially Tom, who is now looking around the deck, making sure he’s got all his things.

“Well, you’ve got to go back, we get it. Face the music.” Sam nods, though he sounds disappointed, which seems to be the general consensus on the deck. I nod, my shoulders slumped. Tom has Gemma over his shoulder, and he takes Rosie’s hand, leading her toward the stairs.

“We’ve got to get going. Have a good night, everyone.” He nearly brushes past me, but then he pauses, and puts a hand on my arm. “Good luck, Billie.” He says quickly, and then turns and starts helping Rosie down the stairs, Gemma still asleep on his shoulder. I am stunned for a minute, but as they make it to the bottom of the stairs, I go after them.

“Wait. Tom.” I call softly. He pauses, but only for a second, before softly asking Rosie to take Gemma. Gemma’s woken up by now, though she’s groggy and half asleep. Rosie takes her, setting her gently on her feet, and the two of them begin a slow, leisurely walk toward their houses.

Tom looks at me, his expression serious.

“Let’s walk.” He says after a beat, both of us aware that my sister, Sam and Shorty are mere feet away on the deck. I nod and we begin walking, closer to the shore. We can make out the shape of Rosie and Gemma, a few yards ahead.

“I’m sorry.” I say as soon as we are out of earshot from the house. He’s silent, doesn’t speak for quite some time.

“If you think it’s best. Then it’s best. You’ve got your whole life to go back to.” He says, his voice neutral and noncommittal. I press my lips together, not sure what I wanted him to say. But I feel disappointed, and still anxious.

“That’s the thing though, I don’t know if it’s best but…I can’t just keep running from it. I have my record label breathing down my neck. And Shorty. And the media. All these expectations—“

“So are you going to apologize?” He asks. We keep walking, our strides in sync though we don’t dare touch.

“I don’t know.” I say softly. Honestly. It’s the truth. It would be easiest to apologize, sweep it under the rug and not deal with the backlash. But his words are still in my head, in my heart. And I just don’t know if I have the strength to follow through with what I really want. I feel so lost and alone in this battle.

“I care about you, Billie.” His voice makes me stop, and I hold my breath. I don’t know the last time that someone has said that to me and really made me feel like they meant it. My family, excluded.

“I care about you too.” I whisper.

“We both knew it wasn’t permanent though.” He sighs, and I see his hand out of the corner of my eye. He reaches for me, but then changes his mind and drops his arm.

“Yeah.” I nod, feeling the back of my throat burn. I don’t know what I wanted him to say. What I expected him to say, but this feels worse than I had thought it would. I chew on the inside of my lip, biting down hard to have something else to focus on.

“I wish you the best, I truly do. You’re special, Billie. You’re something else.” He says with a soft laugh. “But it’s for the best, right? Before anyone gets too attached.” He says the last bit, and I quickly wonder who he’s referring to. Me? Him? Gemma? All of us. I nod and then he clears his throat, straightening his shoulders.

“I’m gonna go catch up to Rosie and Gems. I’ll catch you later, okay?” He says this easily, casually, and I feel my stomach flip. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want to say “goodbye”. He doesn’t seem all that pressed.

“Okay. Goodnight, Tom. Hopefully I’ll…see you soon.” I nod, feeling the tightness in my throat. We both know that it may be months or years before we see each other again. Or maybe not even at all. His eyes search my face for a minute, but then he gives a terse nod, and he’s gone.


	18. 17: heatstroke, a lawyer, an invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Really sorry about the long space between updates. Life. Anyway, it's summer break for me, so hopefully I can update much quicker! Here's a bit of an update...sorry for the slight cliffhanger! You know how I do... (P.S. Thanks for reading! Hope you're all still there with me!)

Summer was fully set in. The heat was nearly oppressive in it’s weight and consistency—the mornings offered no relief, and neither did the nights. The humidity made the air thick and soupy, like wading through a steam bath. Tom groaned softly as he stood up straight, feeling the sun beating down on him as he did. He yanked his shirt off in one quick movement, and then used it to mop the sweat off his brow.

The morning had started with a run, this time alone and not with Sam. Tom needed the time. He’d run through the early morning din, the air hazy and heavy with heat. He’d pushed himself as far as he could, until he was close to passing out, and then he’d pushed a bit further. After coming home, he’d done his normal routine. Showered and changed, his muscles both fatigued and somewhat energized from his rigorous run. He made breakfast for Gemma and Rosie. Did laundry and straightened up. Then set about to some more chores around the house. It was so hot out that Gemma had no interest in playing outside, like she normally did. Usually, he had a tiny shadow—following him around as he did yard work, or repaired something on one of the two rapidly aging cottages. Today, she had opted to stay inside with the air conditioning, drawing pictures and making fresh, home made ice cream with Rosie.

He was glad for it. He needed the quiet, the time in his own head, without worrying about stepping on a tiny figure at his heel. He was working on fixing the gutters along the house, and though it was hellishly hot outside, he somehow enjoyed it. Tom felt he needed the exertion, the sweat, like a filter, cleaning out all the jumbled thoughts in his hurried mind.

And his thoughts were all on her. Billie. And he hated it. He knew she wasn’t staying. And he wasn’t the sort to get attached. He’d squashed that particular habit long ago. But there was something about her. Her strange, intoxicating mix of fragility and strength. The haunted look in her eyes, that he somehow recognized when he looked at his own reflection. The easy, gentle way she interacted with his daughter. That had been the most surprising thing. He could get lost watching them interact.

It was too much to fantasize about what life with Billie Darling would be like. Billie Darling didn’t truly exist. Baby Darling was the real person, and Baby was going back to where she belonged.

Tom took a deep breath, resting his hands on his hips as he looked at the cottage. It needed work. A lot of work, that he was slowly getting through. But he lacked time, and funds to truly make a dent in the ever growing list. This short break from his teaching schedule gave him time when he wasn’t with Gemma, or working at the Bar. But soon, classes would start again, and he’d be swamped under papers and assignments and lesson plans.

There was no room for a woman in his life. Let alone a woman like Billie. He barely had time to breathe, to raise Gemma, to keep his head afloat. What did he really have to offer a woman? Definitely not money. Not any more, thanks to Becca. Financial security was somewhat out of the question. He had a lot of baggage, including an increasingly sassy five year old, and a very wary, still smarting scar from a terrible ex-wife. He shook his head as Becca flitted through his memory. He’d been completely overwhelmed by her.

When he’d met her, she’d been exhilarating and surprising. She had seemed carefree and full of wanderlust, and he’d been captured by that. Completely captured. And then reality had come crashing down. She was anything but carefree. Anything but uninhibited. Their relationship had changed nearly overnight from something sweet, passionate and all consuming to something sour, and distrusting and confused. When he’d come to Delaware with her, and she’d introduced him to her nearly one year old daughter that she herself was a stranger to, he’d felt as if he’d been living in a dream. Or perhaps a nightmare.

Who was this woman? A woman who would just leave her infant daughter, and go gallivanting around the world, then dumping this information on the man who trusted her, who believed he knew her very soul. It had sent him for a tailspin he knew he was still recovering from. And then there had been the few weeks and months after their return to the states. The continued lying. The cheating. The late nights turned to early mornings, with no sign of Becca and a crying one year old to take care of.

And as much as he hated it, he couldn’t help but compare every woman he met to his ex-wife. It was instinct. Anyone he met, whether he was interested or not, he looked for signs of deception. Signs of the cold, uncaring, flippant way his ex-wife had treated him, Rosie and Gemma. The were just background characters in a one woman show.

And the truth was, he saw some of it in Billie, in a different way. She wasn’t cold and flippant, like Becca had been, but she was transient, the same way Becca was. She didn’t quite belong here, which was why he knew, in the back of his head, that she’d always leave. But he couldn’t deny the attraction. The way his body reacted when she was around. The way he nearly burned with desire for her, an aching that he’d long thought he had pushed away and turned to nothing but a momentary itch.

He liked being around her. He loved talking to her, and seeing her open up before his eyes, smiling and sharing small parts of herself with him. But they hadn’t had much time together. And now she was gone, back to California, back to her real life. They’d barely had a goodbye, since he’d been too angry and frustrated with himself to let that really happen. And now he was alone again. Not that he’d ever really had a partner. He wasn’t sure what that even felt like.

“Tom, come inside, darling. You’ll get heat stroke.” Rosie poked her head out the side door, holding up a pitcher of iced tea, condensation running down the side. Tom blinked, pulled abruptly from his thoughts, and tucked his shirt into the back of his shorts.

“I’ve just got to finish this, and I’ll be in. Thanks, Rosie.” He looked up at her, smiling briefly. She was staring at him, her warm eyes concerned and quizzical. He wondered how long she had been watching him, lost in his own thoughts, before she’d said something. She probably thought he’d already gotten heat stroke, just standing there in the sun, his eyes unfocused as he’d thought about Becca and Billie and the low, aching, empty feeling he’d had in his gut since late last night.

She nodded after a second and then disappeared into the cool house, out of the harsh sun. He turned back to the ladder, and the tools he had lying out, ready to finish up, when he saw a car he recognized immediately slowly move into Rosie’s driveway. He stood up, feeling a bit alarmed as he watched the car park. A moment later, a woman with dark hair climbed from the car. She was smiling, which instantly put him at ease. He’d seen her upset, and this wasn’t it. So it must be good news.

“Ms. Reye.” He smiled, and walked forward as he watched her face light up. She blinked rapidly a few times, frozen for a second at the door to her car.

“Good afternoon. You seem to have misplaced your shirt, sir.” Carol walked forward, smoothing the sides of her sleek pencil skirt. Tom laughed, embarrassed as he and grabbed the shirt that was hanging from the back of his shorts, and tugged it on.

“Please, don’t do that on my behalf.” Tom’s lawyer quipped, watching him quizzically. He grinned. Carol Reye had been a god send. A fantastic lawyer who had made everything happen for him and Gemma. Sam had been rooting for Tom and Carol to get together, but Tom had refrained. He hadn’t wanted to make an already messy situation possibly even messier.

“How are you, Carol?” He asked with a quick smile. Her dark hair framed her slender face, her green eyes flashing in the mid afternoon sun. She gave Tom a quick once over and smiled. He knew she was interested in him. She hadn’t been unprofessional, but he wasn’t oblivious. And it was flattering. She was a beautiful woman.

“I’m good. We haven’t had to meet up for awhile. It’s been good not to see you, if you know what I mean.” She laughed easily. He nodded with a smile. Months ago, they had been meeting what seemed like a few times a week, working on fighting Gemma’s case. Now that everything was finalized, they had no reason to see each other.

“It’s true. I’ll take it as a good thing.” Tom said, flashing a smile. Carol smiled and handed him a thick envelope, along with a folder laden with papers.

“Here’s everything you need. All the files, the paperwork. Everything all neatly bundled up. It’s been the requisite 30 days. Everything is finalized.” She nodded, looking both proud and relived. He knew this case had been important to her too. She hadn’t been out of law school for long, and was still making her way through the cutthroat law world. Tom grinned, feeling the heft of the papers.

“I don’t know how to thank you. Really. For everything that you’ve done to help me and Rosie and Gems.” He felt a swelling in his chest. It had been a tough road.

“It’s my job, Tom. But this was a special case. I’m glad it all worked out the way it did.” She took a deep breath, and Tom noticed the way her lips parted slightly. He blinked, then shifted his weight on his feet.

“I wanted to stop by and give you the finalized papers. But I also thought I’d stop by because…well…” Carol hesitated, let out a tiny laugh and shook her head. “Well, I wouldn’t do this while we were on the case since it’s unprofessional. But since we’ve finished, and you’re technically no longer my client….I was wondering if you’d like to get dinner sometime?” She asked, tilting her head toward him slightly as she gave him a small, tentative smile. She was definitely attractive. Tall, slender and sleek. He’d only ever seen her in her work attire—mostly pencil skirts and crisp shirts, her hair pin straight, sleek and shiny. She was a reserved woman, quiet and serious but with a good sense of humor when necessary. He swallowed, pressing the papers between his hands. Carol shifted, the silence stretching between them.

“Was that…a terrible idea…” Her eyes widened slightly as Tom pulled himself from his meandering thoughts.

“Oh! No!” He stuttered slightly. Billie Darling’s blue eyes suddenly flashed through his mind, followed by her slow, sly smile. “I…” He cleared his throat, pushing her from his mind. She was gone. She was never his to have.

“I’d like that, Carol. Yes.” He nodded, feeling the sun beating against his back, his pulse hard against his temples. Carol looked unsure for a split second before smiling and nodding.

“Okay. Great. We’ll be in touch then? You have my number.” She took a deep breath. Tom nodded and swallowed hard, feeling his mouth turn dry.

“Yes. I do. I’ll be in touch.” He raised a hand up to wave goodbye, as Carol smiled and turned to walk back to her car. Tom followed, a few steps behind. He smiled warmly as she got in her car, and he gently closed her door for her. He absentmindedly waved goodbye as she back out of the drive, and then he stood there staring down the paved road, lost in his own thoughts, for quite some time.

 

 ****

 

Tom climbed out of bed, throwing back the tangled covers as he did. The air conditioner in the window hummed softly, though the room still felt humid and warm. He groaned, wondering if yet another unit had gone up. Turning on the lamp by his bedside, he made his way over to the air conditioner, checking the dials, turning the settings up and sighing softly as he felt much colder, clearer seeming air filter through the unit.

He took a deep breath, feeling the chilly air against the bare skin on his stomach. He wore only boxer briefs to bed, a habit he’d changed from sleeping in the nude, once Gemma had entered his life. Waking up, naked and disoriented, to a baby crying in the other room was never a pleasant experience. He now always slept in shorts with a shirt nearby.

He pushed a hand through his messy hair, feeling the rush of cold air over his skin, making his senses pick up. He glanced at the time, realizing it was just after two in the morning. Sleep hadn’t been easy, though he was exhausted. After a brutally hot day, working in the sun, it was frustrating not to be able to relax. Instead, he’d been tossing and turning since midnight. Gemma was over at Rosie’s for a sleepover, and it had made it worse. He slept better knowing Gemma was just in the other room. Otherwise, the house felt like a shell, a tiny voice in the back of his head telling him that this was not his home. Not where he belonged.

Tom groaned and turned away from the air conditioner, walking out of his room and into the darkened house. He made his way silently through the dark rooms, knowing his way by heart. It was a small house, and took no time to make it to the front door, first stopping for a cold beer on his way. Walking out to the front deck, he felt the slight breeze brush past his bare chest, shoulders and legs as he leaned against the railing. The boiling day had turned to a surprisingly pleasant night. The air was still too warm, too humid to be totally comfortable, but the air coming off the ocean felt nice. And the rushing of the ever constant waves was soothing, hypnotizing even, and he hoped it would ease his mind.

He took a long drink from his beer, feeling the smooth, hoppy liquid cool and carbonated in his throat. He sighed, letting his mind wander. He wasn’t sure how long he was there, leaning against the porch railing, watching the moon and the silver reflection on the water. As his eyes adjusted to the night, and the darkened beach, he saw her.

She was just a slow moving figure at first, moving down closer toward the surf. He could tell by the smaller, more slender shape that it was a woman, and he felt something in his chest tighten. His brain jumped immediately to conclusions, though he knew it couldn’t be true, that it was just wishful thinking. It made him feel angry, frustrated and he took another drink, his hand clenched at his side. Tom held his breath, watching and trying to make out any details.

She kept walking, slowly making her way parallel to the horizon. Just as she was nearly in front of his house, a few dozen yards away, the figure stopped. He couldn’t tell if the person was looking at him, or the waves, but after a few moments hesitation he realized they were moving up the beach toward the house. He felt his nerves go on edge, and he held still on the porch, waiting without so much as breathing or moving.

The moon was nearly full, and as she moved closer, he could make out more of her features. The sway of her hips. Her skin nearly glowing in the moonlight, a true siren even in a plain tshirt and cut off shorts. He’d recognized those shorts immediately, the way they showed off her slender, graceful legs. Tom swallowed, and felt his heart pounding against his ribs.

It was her hair that truly gave her away. White, silvery blond in the moonlight, a ruckus of waves and curls. He couldn’t quite believe it was her, but there was no one else with hair like that. He blinked, wondering if maybe he was hallucinating, or quite possibly dreaming. Billie was in California. Not in Delaware, wandering the beaches at two in the morning. It couldn’t be true…and yet, here she was.

As she made her way to the front of the cottage, Billie stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him, mere feet away. She had her face tilted up, the outline of her nose and cheekbones visible. Her blue eyes burning as she made eye contact with him. He turned toward her, one hand resting on the railing and the other still holding the cold beer bottle.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Her voice was small, quiet and rough with something he couldn’t quite place. He felt it in his chest, it made him hurt and ache in ways he’d long forgotten. There was still that musical quality to her voice, as if she were singing out, reaching out to him. And it worked.

“You’re supposed to be in California.”He managed. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to feel her against him, feel her real and soft in his arms. Tom clenched his jaw, feeling the tight coil in his stomach bunch. Billie pulled her lower lip into her mouth, chewing gently.

“I’m not. I didn’t go.” She looked up at him, her eyes slowly sweeping over him, taking in the sight. Tom straightened slightly, feeling her eyes on him, the air between them suddenly thick and charged. He took a step forward, crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

“Tom.” Billie said softly, her hand going to the railing. He looked down at her, his eyes heavily lidded. He could listen to her talk all night. Wanted to hear what she sounded like when she said his name, but perhaps a bit more breathlessly…

“Tom, ask me to come inside. Invite me in.” She said softly, more of a statement than a request. Tom swallowed hard, felt a tumultuous mix of emotions rifle through him. He had been so good for so long at smothering his feelings, at being alone. But suddenly, with one word from her, he didn’t want to be alone anymore. Even if it was just for one night, one moment. He wanted it. It was selfish. It was greedy. It was risky and would most likely hurt like hell later, but he couldn’t say no. It had been too long, and for one night he wanted to feel like he wasn’t in this battle alone anymore. Just one night.

“Come inside, Billie.” He said after a beat, and then reached out, offering her a hand. She licked her lips, and then made her way up the stairs, placing her smaller hand in his. His hand closed around hers, and they both locked eyes.


	19. 18: billie darling, a dream, a decision

We don’t make it far inside the front door before Tom pulls me into his arms. I’m all too aware of us. Our bodies. The way we fit together. The way he smells, the way he tastes, the noises he makes as I kiss him. It is overwhelming, a luscious, delicious attack on all my senses.

“Are you sure?” He asks softly, his mouth near to mine, I can feel his breath on my lips. He seems tense, and I can practically hear his thoughts racing, waiting for me to answer. I answer with a kiss and then a nod, grabbing onto his arms and squeezing.

“Are _you_ sure?” I hold my breath as I return the question, because suddenly we both seem to realize what I mean. That perhaps, he has more to lose. That I’m far from a perfect person, in the midst of chaos and change, and his life is already complicated enough. Neither of us knows what this will mean. How this could change things.

“The first time I saw you…you scared me to death.” He answers after a beat, and we both laugh quietly, remembering that terrible meeting on Sam and Rachel’s deck. I shake my head, softly laughing as I bury my face briefly in his chest. Tom pulls back, reaching for me as he gently tips my face up, toward him.

“You still scare me to death, Billie.” He swallows, and I watch the muscles in his neck work, the serious line of his mouth. My heart is racing in my chest, and I know what he means because I feel the same way.

“I’ve purposefully shut myself off. For years now.” He’s speaking low, his voice barely above a whisper but it permeates deep into my bones. “But I can’t, for the life of me, stay away from you.” His words make my heart skip, and I push onto my tip toes, covering his mouth with mine.

“Don’t then. Please, don’t.” I whisper, breathless as we come together. Tom gathers me in his arms, holding me tight, nearly pressing the air from my lungs. The last time this happened, we were interrupted. And I can’t let that happen this time.

“Gemma. Where’s Gems?” I manage to whisper as Tom starts slipping his warm, big hands underneath my shirt. He nuzzles his face into my neck, and I feel delirious, as if I’m drunk or high.

“At Rosie’s.” He murmurs and I relax, knowing that we won’t be interrupted, and relieved that my morals aren’t about to be questioned by an adorable five year old. He chuckles softly, as if he is reading my mind and we are sharing the same thoughts.

It feels like some sort of dream, and I have to force myself to stay present. To stay in the moment, instead of hazily floating above, watching like some sort of lustful ghost.   It is hazy, slow, like being pulled into consciousness one sense at a time. I am desperate for him, and I fear for my own sanity if I can’t have him. I’m delirious, greedy, hungry.

First, there was the way he feels. Hard, solid, warm skin under my hands. So much bare skin. He gathers me in his arms as he shuts the door behind us, pressing me against the cool wooden door. He presses his chest and hips against mine in one slow, smooth movement and I wrap my arms around his neck and wide shoulders, pulling him closer. My shirt is gone within moments, and the skin to skin contact is intoxicating.

Then, there is his smell. The smell of his skin. Like ocean, and sand, and sweat. A musk that is only him. Clean, sweet, and heady. I breathe him in, greedy gasps as he kisses my neck, his hands at my waist, then spanning my back. His head dips down as he kisses my collarbone and then moves on to my breasts. He cups me over my bra, his thumbs rubbing through the delicate fabric, hardening my nipples into tight points, making me come apart. I push my hands through his soft, slightly curling hair. My knees weaken as he pushes down the cups of my bra, his mouth closing over my nipple. At the same time, his hands go to the button of my shorts and he pulls them open, then tugs them down over my hips.

Last, there is the way he keeps saying my name. Over and over. Soft, louder, growls and then sweet whispers.

“Billie. Billie.”

I feel myself shiver all over, reacting without any control over it. I have never been with a man who called me by my name. It has always been ‘Baby’. Baby, baby, baby. Me, and also any generic pretty face and warm, willing body. But I am not just “Baby” to Tom. I’m Billie. And it’s like he doesn’t want me to forget that.

“Tom, please. Bed.” I gasp softly, as Tom grabs me by the hips, and hoists me up. I want to be in his bed, surrounded by the smell of him, tangled in sheets and wrapped up in him. He carries me through the house, down the short hallway and into his room. There’s a lamp lit on his nightstand, but other than that, it is dark. Grinning, he drops me onto his bed with a soft laugh.

I bounce for a second, falling back with a giggle. I slide backwards, across his already messy bed, leaning back on my arms and slowly sliding my legs open, inviting him in. Tom stands before me, his eyes dark, his expression heavy and somehow hungry. I can see how turned on he is, obvious by the front of his boxer briefs. He is all tall, lean muscle and strong, sinewy lines. He stands there, still, watching me for a few seconds, until I am practically humming, impatient and wiggling under her steady gaze. I reach behind me, slowly, and unclasp my bra. I let the straps slide down my arms, and then I slowly sit up straight, letting it fall from me. Tom licks his lips, and I see his hands move at his sides, fingers spread and then clench into tight balls at his sides.

“You are bloody gorgeous.” He blinks, and a slow smile starts at the corners of his mouth. I blush, despite myself.

“You must hear that all the time.” He adds, suddenly sounding a bit disappointed. As if he wishes he could say more. I sit up, scoot back toward him, up to the edge of the bed and I reach forward, taking his hands. My thighs bump his legs, and he steps forward, so he’s right in front of me. I press my face into his stomach, kissing his flat abs, the soft skin of his lean hips.

“Not like that, I don’t.” I say softly. Tom leans down, cupping my face in his hands, and kisses me, deeply and gently. My hands go to his waist, then to the front of his boxers, wrapping my hands around him through the thin fabric. He groans against my mouth and then pushes me back onto the bed as he climbs over me.

Tom covers my body with his, coming down on me soft and hard at the same time, heavy and strong. I wrap my legs around him, tangling my legs with his, trying to touch as much of him at once as I can. He cradles me in his arms, slipping his hands under my head, burying his face in my neck as he kisses and licks me, wildly and then slow and softly. I strain underneath him. The pleasure is almost painful. I both want to push him far, far away, and closer, closer, closer than anyone else has ever been.

I arch underneath him, pressing myself against his chest. His hand covers one of my breasts, cupping it as his fingers gently pull against my nipple. His head dips down, and I feel his mouth close over me, his tongue wet and teasing. His teeth scrape against my skin and I gasp and close my eyes, squeezing my legs around him. He stills after a moment, leaving both of us panting.

“I don’t normally go over to Rosie’s until 8 or 9 in the morning to make breakfast.” He says, and a slow, calculating smile forms on his lips. I stare at his mouth for a second, wanting badly to kiss him, to bite his slightly fuller lower lip.

“Oh?” I reply, reaching between us as I try to push his boxers down and out of the way.

“That means…” He grabs my hands suddenly, and pushes them above my head, pinning me against the bed. I smile, squirming under his grasp.

“That means we have all night.” He gets up onto all fours, hovering over me as he begins making an achingly slow path down my chest and stomach, lower, lower, lower.

“Oh…” I breathe, not sure what else to say. Unable to really think.

“I’m going to take my time then.” He grabs my hips and then dips his head low, pushing my panties to the side with one clever hand, and the help of his tongue.

I groan, gasping as I try not to smother him with my thighs, which are clenching around his shoulders and head as pleasure races through me. I close my eyes, giving into the desire, the exhilarating yearning that has taken over.

And he’s good on his word. So very good. He takes his time, and then some, and we don’t stop until it is light out, the first hints of morning creeping in through the edges of the curtains. And even after that, in the quiet, sated silence, we keep touching, our bodies intertwined, as if we know it is too good to take for granted, and we don’t want to awake from this to find it’s all been some hazy, sumptuous dream.

 

 ****

 

Tom has his head on my thigh, the blankets are tangled around us both. We are sprawled across his bed, both in various stages of sleep. It’s nearing 9, and neither of us have moved. We’ve gotten just a few hours of sleep, and though I know he’s usually up early for his run, he’s made no effort to move.

“Tom.” I say softly, reaching down and running my hands through his hair, over his temples, down his jawline. He groans softly, and presses his face into my leg, kissing me briefly, but not opening his eyes.

“It’s nearly 9.” I swallow, closing my eyes as I keep stroking his hair. He moves then, but only so he’s lying next to me, plopping down heavily on the pillows as he grabs me sloppily, pulling me against his chest. He’s warm and solid and I snuggle back against him, as if trying to find out just how close we can get. He groans into my shoulder and kisses me there.

“I called Rosie. I told her I was running late. Twenty minutes.” He breathes heavily and I feel his hand splay across my stomach. I arch my back, pushing my butt against him. He breathes a bit heavier.

“I should get going then?” I ask, teasing. I don’t want to go. I could easily stay here, all day with him. But I don’t know how this is going to work.

Tom opens his eyes then, clear and blue, piercing in the morning light.

“It’s up to you.” He says. The silence between us is heavy for a moment.

“What’s going on with work?” He asks after a minute, the million dollar question that’s been hanging over us since last night. He gently moves away, guiding me back so we can see each other. He reaches up and pushes the hair from my face, cupping the side of my jaw for a second before running a finger down the slope of my nose. I take a deep breath, launching into my explanation.

“I told Shorty I would release my own statement. That I won’t apologize for being violated by someone I trusted. It’s going out on the website any minute now. And I’m…” I breathe. “I’m not renewing my contract with my label.” I say, watching his expression as I speak. It had been a big decision. Huge. Shorty had not been happy, at all. We’d screamed at each other on the way to the airport. Our working relationship—something that had lasted over ten years, was suddenly being tested. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Shorty as my manager anymore, it was that I didn’t want to keep going in the same direction. I didn’t want to play huge arenas and stadiums. I didn’t want to be sold as some commodity. Shorty couldn’t see or understand why.

Tom nods, his eyes move to my face and then away. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and it surprises me how much I care.

“It was your choice, your decision, Billie. But I think you made the right one.” He wraps an arm around my bare waist and tugs me close to him. I feel my chest swell, and relief makes me feel light headed. Breaking away from the label and making that statement are two things that I don’t know I would have been able to do a year ago, or even six months ago. Definitely not when everything had first happened. It would mean losing the possibility of a lot of money, many connections and opportunities.

But the thing was, was that I didn’t need anymore money. Money is the least of my problems. And with the money rolling in from the video, I barely want anything to do with all of it anymore.

“Thank you for saying that. Really. A lot of people are angry with me right now.” I hear my voice catch and I take a deep breath. Tom runs a steady hand up my side and then down over my hip.

“Fuck ‘em, you know? Sometimes you have to make choices that won’t please everyone. You need to take care of yourself, Billie.” He says softly. I nod and brush away the tears I feel at the corner of my eyes. I look at him, giving him a quick, watery smile.

“My career is definitely going to change.” I say with a shaky laugh. He nods and shrugs.

“For the better, yeah?” He gives me a reassuring look—a half smile, his eyes kind and compassionate. It nearly makes my heart want to push from my chest. I nod.

“I hope.” I manage. I don’t really care about my career at the moment. All I can truly think about is this man beside me. The way it feels to have him hold me like this. The way he’s accepted me, faults and imperfections.

“What are you up to tonight? Maybe we could go see a movie—you, me and Gems. Rosie too if she’d like.” I change the subject, not wanting to turn into a total sap and say something that I haven’t even quite worked out. Tom is quiet for a moment, his eyes serious on my face, but then he smiles, looking a bit regretful.

“I’ve got to work at the Bar.” He says matter of factly. This is his life. Work. Gemma. Work. Gemma. Repeat. He doesn’t complain about it, though I know it must wear on him.

“But what are you doing right now?” He starts to sit up, untangling our arms and legs from each other. Leaving a Tom shaped hole next to me. “You can come with me to Rosie’s, if you’d like. I’ll make pancakes. And Gems would love to see you. We could go to the beach after. But you don’t have to.” He reaches over, brushing hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear. I swallow, pressing my lips together as I study his face. The smooth skin on his cheeks, the slight stubble on his jaw and around his mouth. The culprit for the irritated pink marks on my thighs and chest this morning. His nose is straight and thin, his eyes blue like the ocean outside. There are tiny laugh lines in the corners, lines that stay there even when he isn’t smiling. I could wake up to this face every day. I wouldn’t mind it at all.

“I’d love to come to Rosie’s.” I manage after a second. He smiles then, a wide, bright smile, and then he settles back next to me, filling the void beside me.

“Good. Then we’ve got just enough time…” He trails off as I break into a fit of giggles, overcome with happiness, and ease and a rather healthy dose of lust.


	20. 18: photographers, girlfriends, debt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read, commented and "liked" Darling. It has meant a lot. I know I haven't been as active on here lately, but all your comments and feedback mean a lot to me. As many of you (the ones I chat with on FB) know, I've been having some pretty terrible writer's block, but I'm working through it. Thanks again for all your support. I've really needed it these last few weeks.

Tom pulled a rack of pint glasses from the back, and brought them to the front of the bar, humming softly as he did. Two weeks. Two glorious weeks since Billie had spent the night in his bed, in his arms. And she’d spent nearly every night there since. He smiled to himself, shaking the image of her—lithe, naked and stretched across his sheets. It wasn’t just that either that had him smiling, though that was an image he wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon. He could smell her skin. Feel her hands on him, and the way she moved under his. Hear her laugh, soft and breathless in his ear. He loved falling asleep next to her. He loved rolling over in the night, and wrapping himself around her. She always responded to him, molding her body against him, sighing as if she’d been searching in the dark for him and only just then found him. Found relief. He felt the same.

They’d been hesitant at first. He wasn’t sure he wanted Gemma to wake up in the morning, and find Billie already there, having obviously spent the night. It was a delicate situation. But Billie somehow made it easy. She was understanding and laid back about it. The first few nights, she insisted that she could leave, at 4 or 5 in the morning to avoid his tiny roommate. He hadn’t liked that. Didn’t like Billie sneaking out like it was some sort of crime. Or like they were doing something wrong. Still, he knew it was a conversation he’d have to have with Gemma, sooner rather than later.

He ended up sitting Gemma down one evening, over pink dotted cat cookies and vanilla bean ice cream, and talking about it with her. It had gone better than he’d expected, though it hadn’t been exactly smooth.

“Gems.” He set down two cookies on a plate in front of Gemma, who immediately grabbed one with a pudgy hand and snapped the head off. She giggled and chowed down, cramming far too much in her mouth.

“Gemma. Slow down.” Tom blinked, trying not to laugh. She nodded, opened her mouth a bit wider and chewed harder.

“Better.” He nodded, watching her over his shoulder as he poured her a glass of milk. He knew she’d ask for it, so he might as well be ready. It was nearing bedtime, and she sat in her super hero pajamas he’d bought from the little boy’s section, her hair wet from her earlier bath.

“These are better than last time.” She quipped, mouth still full.

“Chew, darling. I’m pretty sure they’re the same.” He set the half full glass down in front of her, and she smiled at him, and grabbed it with two hands.

“The icing tastes better.” She shrugged. Tom nodded and shrugged back. If anyone knew, she would. He’d been buying her those cookies regularly for what seemed like at least a year.

“Gemma, you know Billie?” He asked, knowing it was a dumb question. He just wasn’t sure how else to broach the subject. Gemma looked up at him, her brow furrowed, recognizing even at her young age, that he had just asked a dumb question.

“Billie is my friend, daddy.” She scowled at him and then bit the tail off the cat. He nodded, leaning forward on the table, swiping a hand over his face. Gemma took a loud glug of milk and then made a satisfied “Ahh!” He grinned and watched her, absorbing every little last detail of her cookie eating routine. She did it nearly the same way every time.

“You’re right. She is your friend.” He nodded, smiling. She blinked at him and then turned her attention back to her cookies.

“She’s also my friend.” He started, but immediately regretted it. He groaned inwardly. No one taught you how to explain to a five year old that you were going to have a “friend” sleep over. He wasn’t even sure if it was the right decision. He paused and sat back in the chair, watching Gemma quietly.  

“She’s your friend, too?” Gemma laughed as if this was ludicrous and then licked the hardened royal icing on her cookie. “Is she your girlfriend, daddy? You’re like, in loveee? EW.” She scrunched up her nose and squinted at Tom. He was taken aback, and reached forward, broke off a small piece of one of her cookies, and popped it into his mouth. He needed a second to recover.

“How do you know what girlfriends are?” He asked.

“Rosie told me. I asked why I didn’t have a mom. And she said because my mom couldn’t take care of me. And then she said maybe one day I would have a mom. You’d just need to get a girlfriend, finally.” Gemma rolled her eyes, looking exasperated. Definitely an adult gesture, and one that was surprisingly funny on a little girl. Tom laughed, shaking his head, though sadness hit him as well. He had struggled for a long time about what to tell Gemma about Becca. He’d ended up deciding on being honest with her, and had always answered any questions she had about her absent mother. Still, she often went to Rosie about some of these things, as Rosie seemed to be deemed by everyone to be the authority on most things. And she was the closest thing Gemma had to a mother figure.

“Do you want a mom, Gemma?” He asked softly after a moment. Gemma shrugged, her little face falling for a second. Anyone who said that children couldn’t feel the full range of emotions—sadness, loneliness, missing something they’d never truly had, had obviously never truly known and loved a child before.

“Gems?” He pressed gently. Gemma looked at him then and smiled.

“I have you. I have a daddy. I don’t need a mommy.” She said simply. Tom nodded and felt his jaw tense, emotions running through him. He reached forward, bumping her gently on the chin.

“You do have me. Always, little rhino girl.” He managed.

“Mmhmm. And Billie could be your girlfriend, if you want. And then she could be my mom, if she wanted.” She added after a beat, looking at Tom from the corner of her eye, as if realizing she was testing the waters. Tom smiled at her. Gemma was bound to catch onto things, despite being so young. She understood more than he gave her credit for.

“I care about Billie a lot. I hope she’ll be around more. I can’t promise you anything though, Gems. I wish I could.” He said. Gemma nodded in agreement, seeming to understand though he knew it had to be over her head. She looked at him, her eyes wide and full of understanding as she gave him a pat on the arm with a sticky hand.

“Give her some cat cookies. She can have one of mine. She’ll come around more then.” Gemma offered. Tom laughed then, loudly, nodding as he reached over and gently ruffled his daughter’s hair. She beamed at him, as if she knew that offering one of her precious cat cookies was a very kind and noble thing to do. And it was. For a five year old, it was.

And since that conversation, Billie had started sleeping over. They tried to be discreet about it. They made sure to be dressed and ready for the day way before Gemma was ever awake. They made breakfast together, and Billie would stay with Gemma while Tom went for his run, or walk with her over to Rosie’s and they’d all hang out there until Tom finished. He had more free time than usual until classes started up again. They’d started a bit of a routine, and it was nice. It was more than nice. It was something nearly precious, and Tom held it close to his chest, holding his breath, waiting for the floor to drop.

“You’re awfully chipper.” Tom’s coworker, Chelsea, slid by him, grabbed two glasses and began to fill them at the tap.

“Hmm, perhaps so.” He answered with a quick smile. The bar was relatively quiet that night, and Tom was counting down the moments until he could be on his way home. He’d texted Billie a half hour ago, asking her what she was up to, and she’d replied with a picture of Gemma and Rosie, sitting in Gemma’s room, reading books. He hadn’t stopped smiling since then, despite wanting so badly to be there as well.

“What are you up to after work, professor?” Chelsea asked, setting down two beers in front of two men at the end of the bar. She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her ample chest. Tom had worked with Chelsea for over a year now. She was a nice girl—in her mid twenties, perpetually single by choice, rather blunt and straightforward which seemed to attract her fair share of men.

“Home, as always.” He flashed a smile at her as he began mixing shots for a trio of women down at the other end of the bar. Some terrible shot he detested called a “red headed slut”.

“I see.” Chelsea raised an eyebrow at him, her fingers tapping against her arm. “You couldn’t be talked into hanging out and getting a drink with me after?” She asked. Not the first time she’d asked him to stick around. The last time had been a few months ago, and she’d point blank asked if he’d like to go home with her. Strangely, he didn’t take it all that personally. She often went home with someone after work, and then never saw that person again. It was just her style. He got it. It was flattering that she asked, but it wasn’t his style.

This was the second time in two weeks he’d be turning a woman down. The first had been Carol, his lawyer. He’d called her a few days after Billie had shown up, gently letting her down. She’d taken it well, and been understanding about it. Tom had still felt bad. She’d been an amazing lawyer, and he hadn’t exactly expected to have to back out of his date with her. Now, there was Chelsea.

“Sorry, Chels, I’ve got a lady at home waiting for me.” He gave her an apologetic smile, referring to Gemma, though Billie flashed through his mind. She nodded with a smile and then shrugged. Tom gave her a pointed look and then quickly poured the shots into glasses, and brushed by her, delivering the drinks to the women.

“Tom, we heard there was a celebrity here the other week.” One of the women reached across the bar, grabbing Tom by the wrist before he could step away. He smiled and gently pulled from her grasp. They were all already drunk, had come in that way, so he had been gently dodging their flirting and come ons all night. One number had already been slipped his way, though the paper was already in the trash.

“Oh?” He began wiping down the bar as the women all nodded, taking their shots.

“Yeah. That slutty singer. What’s her name?” The tall brunette nudged her blond friend in the ribs. Tom tensed, biting down hard to keep from saying anything. No one knew he was seeing Billie. Just her family, and Rosie. They’d never discussed keeping quiet, but it had just been an obvious decision. Something that didn’t need to be spoken.

“Baby Darling. I heard she was in here, and she got super drunk with some frat guys. Left with them too. Someone had pictures on their phone. I saw it online.” Blondy nodded at her friends, who all gasped as if this was the most shocking thing they’d ever heard.

“Is that so?” Tom said, knowing that Billie hadn’t been in the Bar since she’d been there with Rachel. And she most definitely hadn’t left with any guys.

“Did you see the pictures? Was she naked?” The brunette laughed, her voice harsh and loud. The women started cackling, looking at their phones and chatting. Tom took a deep breath and turned to walk away.

“Has she been here?” A voice cut in, and Tom looked up. One of the guys that Chelsea had been serving was looking at him, obviously having overheard the conversation. It was hard not to. The women were still talking loudly about celebrities, and people they had met before.

“Who?” Tom asked, knowing full well who he was referring to. The two men obviously were from out of town. They didn’t have the laid back, vacationer’s beach vibe about them. One was wearing a fashionable, but ill fitting suit, with a tshirt underneath instead of a dress shirt. The other wore expensive looking jeans and a polo shirt. Tom waited, feeling his nerves starting to rapidly fray.

“Baby Darling. She’s a singer. Does those beach commercials. Great tits, blond hair.” The one with the darker hair raised his beer glass and took a drink.

“I don’t know.” Tom said, his voice stiff, bristling with anger.

“Yeah, she was in here. A few weeks ago.” Chelsea quipped, walking up to the bar and leaning into it. She smiled at the two men and refilled the one’s glass. Tom froze, trying not to let the slowly boiling anger that was setting in get to him. He didn’t think Chelsea knew he was dating Billie, but she definitely knew that he knew her. She knew Rachel, and knew Rachel’s family.

“Oh?” The men’s interest was piqued.

“Why do you wanna know? Seen one too many home videos?” Chelsea winked, and then turned and looked at Tom. He narrowed his eyes for a second, tilting his head. She shrugged.

“We’re professional photographers. There’s a pretty decent price for photos of her right now. She’s been m.i.a. for weeks. No one’s been able to track her down, and she’s a hot commodity. We saw her manager fly into LAX two weeks ago, and were able to track his flight back to here.” The one man sat back, looking pleased with himself. As if Billie was some sort of fugitive, on the run for doing something terrible. Not just a woman seeking privacy after being exposed to the whole world. Tom felt his fists clench and he crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to calm down.

“She was here. Over a month ago. But she left, and hasn’t been back. I heard her mention her manager. Probably went back to LA with him.” Tom said through clenched teeth. The photographer stared at him for a minute, as if trying to see if Tom was telling the truth or not. Chelsea raised an eyebrow at Tom, and then turned and walked away.

“Funny, cause we didn’t see her at the airport.” The response was slow, accusing. Tom leaned against the bar and reached over to the computer register, quickly bringing up the tab for the two men. He printed it out and set it down in front of them with a thud.

“She’s gone. She left. You probably should too. Have a good night, gentlemen.” He said with a wide, unfriendly grin. The two men paused, looking angrily at him, not sure what to do. Tom stood in front of them, unwavering, waiting and watching until they unhappily paid their check and left, grumbling the whole time.

 

****

 

Tom came home to a dark house. The light on the front porch was on, and it was quiet as he stepped inside. He slipped his shoes off and walked silently into the family room, which was dark save for the blue green flickering of the television screen. He was tired, more so than usual, from his shift at the bar. The obnoxious patrons, and one too many sleazy, shitty remarks, had left him on edge. But, it all melted away as he stepped into his home.

He peeked over the edge of the sofa, and saw Billie there, fast asleep. She was curled on her side, her hands under her face, a blanket tucked around her legs and feet. Her hair was a mess around her face, and she breathed with the slow, even sureness of sleep.

He smiled and then left, walking softly down the short hallway toward Gemma’s room. He paused outside her door, which was slightly ajar. He let his eyes adjust, and looked inside. Her moon shaped nightlight gave off a soft, amber glow, and he could make out the shape of her in her bed. She was a tangle of sheets and blankets, sprawled out as if she were swimming. He stood there for a moment, watching her, seeing the rise and fall of her tiny chest. He felt the frustration and weariness of the day slip past him as he watched her, and then he quietly turned and left her to her dreams.

Making his way back to the family room, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging out of it as he walked around the couch to where Billie lay sleeping. He wore a tshirt underneath, and he quickly untucked that from his trousers.

Reaching forward, Tom leaned over Billie, stroking her face gently. She started, her blue eyes opened widely for a moment but then instantly relaxed as he knelt by her.

“Oh. Hello.” She breathed, her voice breathy and low with sleep. Tom felt the tug low in his stomach, the constant, ever ready desire for her. It never went away. It changed sometimes, throughout the day, but it was always there.

“Hello, gorgeous.” He smiled and sat down on the floor in front of the couch. Billie reached for him, pulled him by the shoulders and into a kiss. Her mouth was soft, warm and inviting as she pressed her lips to his. She was still half asleep, so her movements were slow, sensual without even realizing it. She arched, stretching out as she pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders.

“Mmm, I missed you. How was work?” She said after a moment, breaking from the kiss. Tom groaned softly, and then leaned back against her as Billie pushed her fingertips through his hair. She did this thing with her hands, rubbing his temples and scalp, and then the back of his neck, that made him feel like putty.

“It was work.” He said softly, then groaned as she slipped her hands under the neck of his tshirt, rubbing his shoulders.

“You’re very tense.” She leaned forward, kissing his temple, her lips lingering. Tom nodded, opened his eyes and looked at her. She smiled at him, just a slight upturn of her plush lips, but it was all in her eyes. How happy she was, how glad she was to be there with him. It made his chest feel tight and full. He grinned and reached up, wrapped his arms around her chest and waist and pulled her down off the couch. Billie squealed, giggling as she toppled onto the floor, on top of him.

“I’m better now.” Tom let out a soft groan as she settled on top of him. Billie dug her chin into his chest, her hands reaching down and slipping under his shirt.

“Good.”

“How was Gems?” He asked, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her again.

“She was fine. She was exhausted. We took a long walk on the beach, and then blew bubbles with Rosie.” Billie sat up, slowly, pushing against his chest as she straddled him. Tom smiled, looking up at her as she brushed her long hair off of her shoulders.

“Wish I could have been here.” He said, sliding his hands up her thighs. She was wearing a sun dress, with flimsy little straps that he was pretty sure he could easily slip off her slender shoulder without much effort. The skirt rose up her thighs as he moved his hands, her skin silky smooth and warm. He groaned, shifting his hips and making her move with him, trying to get as close to her as possible, but finding it difficult considering the clothes they were still wearing. Billie smiled, slow and seductive as she reached down and looped a finger through his belt loops.

“Time to make up for lost time?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper. He nodded, not taking his eyes from her. He reached up as she pushed his shirt up, revealing his stomach as she gently scratched her nails over his skin. He felt himself tense under her hands, and even more so as she moved her hips, grinding against him.

Tom slipped a finger under each strap on her shoulders, sliding them effortlessly off. Her dress fell to her waist, revealing her breasts. He drank her in, unable to take his eyes off her—the heavy, roundness of her perfect breasts, her soft skin, the quickly hardening dark pink tips. Tom moved then, sitting up and still keeping her on his lap. He covered her with his hands, taking her nipple in his mouth as he pressed her breasts together. Billie gasped softly, her head tilting back, her lips parted as she offered herself to him. He held her closer, rolling his tongue over her nipple again and again, biting gently as he sucked and pulled against her.

“Oh, Tom. Yes…” She breathed, pressing her face into his hair, kissing every where she could reach. He ran his hands over her skin, up and down her back, over her stomach, between her breasts, not wanting to leave a single inch of her untouched.

“Bedroom.” He groaned as she reached between them, rubbing the hard length of him through his pants. Billie nodded and started to try and get up, but Tom scooped her up, standing in one quick movement. She laughed and let him carry her, taking her into her bedroom and closing the door behind them.

Billie quickly shimmied out of her dress and panties as he sat her down, and then pointed at him, motioning for him to take off his clothes. Tom smiled and obeyed, yanking his shirt off and then stepping out of his trousers. Billie stood on the bed, pulling him against her, giggling because for once they were nearly the same height—in fact she was a bit taller now.

“I can’t get enough of you.” Tom breathed into her neck, kissing her shoulders, as he slid his hand up her thighs and between her legs. Wet, so wet. And completely ready. He felt his stomach tighten, and his hands itched just to grab her, throw her on the bed and bury himself in her.

But he had more self control than that. At least he did for the moment. And this was about Billie. He slowed himself down, pressing his fingers into her thighs. Billie gasped and held onto his shoulders. “I have you, and yet five minutes later, I want you again. I go to work, and all I can think about…is this.” He bites her gently, sucking and kissing his way down her stomach.

“Me too. God, me too.” She gasped again as Tom threw her leg over his shoulder, placing small, perfect kisses to her inner thighs. He was starving for her, desperate to taste her, but also refusing to give her exactly what she wanted right away. He loved watching her squirm, making her beg just a little bit. Then he loved making her shake, and cry out, in absolutely no control over her body.

Billie whimpered, raising a hand to her mouth, trying to keep her noises as quiet as possible. Tom pulled away, and she grabbed at him, lifting him up to her mouth, obviously not wanting him to stop. He kissed her, deep and passionate as she tugged him onto the bed with her.

They slid together, lying down next to each other, their bodies touching as their legs intertwined together. They stilled for a moment, as Tom reached forward, cupping her face in his hands. She watched him, her eyes full and just a tad bit hazy.

“How did I get so lucky, Billie?” He whispered, eyes never leaving hers. Billie smiled then, her eyes tearing up just a bit. He leaned forward, kissing her forehead and then the tip of her nose.

“I could ask the same.” She whispered, her voice seemed to be caught in her throat. Tom pushed his hands through her thick, unruly hair, tugging gently.

“I care about you so much. This is…surreal to me. Having you here, in my bed.” He got serious then, stroking her neck and shoulder as Billie relaxed against him.

“It’s surreal to me too. I never thought…” She trailed off.

“I just want you to know though… as much as I love this—being here with you, touching you, feeling you… that’s not what’s important to me. You know that, right? I’d have you any way I could. This is just a bonus.” His voice was soft, tender as he spoke. Billie was quiet for a moment, her eyes lowered, unable to look at him. Tom took a breath, holding it in as he watched her, waiting and wondering if he’d said the wrong thing.

It took her a few seconds, but when she finally looked up, he could see she was crying, or close to it.

“Oh, Billie. Darling.” He whispered, running a thumb over her cheek. She smiled and shook her head.

“Thank you. Really. I… No one has ever said anything like that to me. You tend to do that a lot.” She said with a soft laugh. Tom pulled her to him, closing the small gap between their bodies. He felt her take a deep, shaky breath, letting him hold her as she held him back.

God. He could lose himself in this woman. If he hadn’t already.

Billie pulled back after a few minutes, kissing him gently as she did.

“Tom. You know, I could help you?” She said, her voice quiet but steady. He frowned, tilting his head as he ran a fingertip over the outer edge of her ear.

“Hmm?” He asked, tugging gently on her lobe.

“With Becca’s debt.” She answered. Tom froze, feeling a ball of emotions well inside of him. “I have more money than I know what to do with. More than I could use in multiple lifetimes. I could pay off the debt so easily. I would love to do that for you…for Gemma.” She spoke quickly, and he could tell she was nervous. He felt the emotions move in his stomach, warm at first but with cold, curling fingers. It was hard for him to wrap his head around what she was saying. What she was offering.

“Billie, I couldn’t…” He shook his head and she quickly pressed a finger to his lips.

“Listen, you don’t have to answer now, okay? Just know, I’ve thought about this a lot. I have…multiple cars sitting in my driveway in LA. Cars I’ve never even touched. I could sell one and it’d be enough to pay off the debt. Or I could use the money from the…from the tape. At least some good would come from it. I want nothing to do with that money anyway.” She was holding onto his shoulders now, as if she knew that her statement might make him want to step away, to uncurl from her and the bubble they’d created.

“It’s my issue, Billie, not yours.” He said gently, knowing she was just trying to help, but feeling all the worse for it.

“I know. But I…” She kissed him, softly, gently, nudging against him as she did. He responded, unable to keep from it. “I care about you, so much. You and Gemma. Please, think about it? You could quit the Bar. You’d even have more money to keep for Gems.” She wrapped her legs around him, pressing her hips to him. She kissed him again, forcing him to stay present with her, and not retreat back into his mind, into the space that being with Becca had created.

Tom rolled Billie onto her back, quick and steady, feeling the coldness in his stomach thaw. It had been a very long time since anyone had offered him something like this. And he knew her intention. It was nothing but good. It moved him in ways he couldn’t even totally comprehend, but he felt it, deep in his chest.

He covered her body with his, pressing her into the bed as he slipped his arms under her, cradling her against him as he kissed her. They didn’t speak. They didn’t quite need to. Billie kissed him back, deeply, their tongues sliding and moving against each other. He touched her once, feeling her wetness, her readiness, and then Tom slide inside her, fast, unyielding and true. Billie gasped against his mouth, her hips rising to meet his. Tom wrapped his hands in her hair, pushed his face into her neck, biting and licking as he felt Billie respond to him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into him, her fingers pressed into his shoulders. Her gasps were soft, then urgent, breathless, deep and yearning, verging on out of control.

Tom drove into her, the movement smooth and earth shattering, making his mind spin as he felt her, tight around him. Billie arched under him, saying his name as she panted softly, telling him “more, more, more.” He gave her what she wanted, reaching between them at one point to touch her, making her nearly lift off the bed as she crumbled beneath him, shaking and clenching around him. He nearly lost it then, torn between coming apart as well, and holding her fiercely against him. He did the latter, holding her as she came, as she sobbed softly for a moment before her moans turned to soft, content laughter. He grinned, and then quieted her giggles with more moans as he picked his pace back up.

A few moments more, and he was gone as well. She did the same for him, wrapping herself around him as he pushed hard into her. He felt her hot and tight, clenching around him, her body instantly reacting to his, shaking in response. He said her name, roughly, and then collapsed on top of her. Only for a second, wary of crushing her, but when he went to move off away, Billie sighed and held him to her, locked around him as she ran her hands up and down his spine.

“Thank you.” He whispered softly, barely above a whisper, into her ear. “For being you, Billie.” He felt her smile, her lips lightly touching his shoulder. She nodded and squeezed him a bit tighter.


	21. 20: hide and seek, the truth, a dance

 

I glance over at Rachel, who is helping Gemma into a booth at the ice cream parlor. It is an impromptu girl’s day out, as Tom is on Rosie duty for the day.  Rosie had a doctor’s appointment in the city, so I offered to watch Gemma so he wouldn’t have a hyper five year old on his hands while at the cramped doctor’s office.  He’d bulked at first, saying he didn’t want to put that on me.  I had simply scrunched my nose at him and kissed him, hard and good, and made him change his mind.  It’s no big deal to watch Gemma. 

 Gemma has requested a scoop of cookie dough ice cream with chocolate sprinkles.  Rachel is sticking to frozen yogurt, and I’m splurging on chocolate soft serve.  I’m not sure how much I’ve gained since I’ve been back, but suffice it to say, Tom has had a good grip on my hips lately.  Not that either of us have minded.

Rachel grins at Gemma, and walks the four or five feet to where I’m standing in line, both of us watching the little girl as she is oblivious to us.  She sits in the booth, dwarfed by the high sides of the seats, slowly pushing a stuffed dog toy along the table top.

“She is adorable.” Rachel says under her breath.  I smile and feel something swell in my chest.  I’m not sure what it is.  Gemma isn’t mine.  Even entertaining that idea in my head makes me feel strange.  But there is something there.  And when I think of Gemma, I think of Tom.

“She is.” I nod and turn back as the girl behind the counter hands Rachel Gemma’s ice cream. 

“Thanks, Tania.” Rachel smiles at the counter girl.  She knows everyone in this town.  It’s hard not to.  Rachel goes back to the table, setting the cup in front of Gemma.  Her eyes go big, and she immediately digs in.  Rachel and I get our cups, and return back to the booth.

“You’ve been busy lately.” Rachel says out of the side of her mouth, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.  I stiffen, and then take a deep breath.  

“For some time there, I couldn’t get you out of my hair.  You were like my little sister shadow all over again.  I’m not complaining, it was nice. But you’ve been…busy lately.” She continues, slowly eating a spoonful of ice cream.  I haven’t been around lately, it’s true.  It’s been quite a few days since I’ve spent the night at Rachel’s…all my time has been spent at Tom’s.

“I guess so.” I try to hide my smile, but it tugs at the corners of my mouth.  “Just giving you and Sam some space, that’s all.” I say with sudden interest in my ice cream.  Rachel laughs, the noise bright and amused.

“Sure, I’m sure that’s what you’re doing.” Rachel rolls her eyes, still smiling as she reaches over and dabs at Gemma’s ice cream covered mouth.  Gemma scowls but lets her without much fuss.

“How’s the ice cream, Gems?” I ask, reaching over and moving her stuffed dog out of the way of any melted dessert.  Gemma nods, looking down and digging into her cup with her smaller, pink spoon.

“Not as good as cat cookies.  I can’t eat the heads off.  This is good though.  Thank you.” Gemma wiggles in her seat and grins at me.  She is full of boundless energy, which keeps her moving constantly.

“You’re welcome.” I smile at her, feeling that squeeze again in my chest.  The routine has been easy lately.  I spend all my time with Tom, Gemma and Rosie.  When Tom has to work at the Bar, then I hang out with Gemma and Rosie.  Sometimes I’ll go to Rachel and Sam’s and have dinner with them.  I rotate between the three houses during the day, Gemma acting as my tiny shadow as I do.  She’s easy to take care of, aside from the occasional tantrum or tears if she’s too tired and in need of a summer nap.  I always end my days at Tom’s house, though.  Whether he’s working or at home, I find myself in his bed.  He’s got a perfect view of the beach from his bedroom window, and so when I’m waiting for him to get home, I lie in his bed, surrounded by his blankets and pillows that smell so much of him.  I read, sometimes I play music or bring out my guitar.  I watch the moon rise over the ocean.  I wait for him.  And when he comes home, and joins me in bed, everything falls into place.

It’s almost too easy.

“Is it serious, Bee?” Rachel breaks through my thoughts, and I flush, getting caught with hearts in my eyes.  I brush the thought of Tom, shedding his clothes nearly as soon as he walks into the bedroom, from my mind.

“Um.” I hum, swirling my ice cream in the cup.  I glance at Gemma, who is in a delirious ice cream coma, and not listening to the boring adults. She’s is humming to herself, licking melted ice cream from her sticky hands.  Rachel follows my gaze and then looks back at me, waiting.

“I haven’t talked to him about it.” I say quietly.  Rachel grunts and widens her eyes at me. 

“This isn’t a permanent stop for you, Billie.  You’ve got to have the conversation.” She sets her cup down and gives me the stare.  The stare only a nosy older sister can give you.  I shift and feel my throat close a bit.

“I know that, Rach. Don’t you think I know that?” I say, trying to keep my voice low.  “And what if…what if it was a permanent stop? What if I decided to stay?” I say in a loud whisper.  Rachel stares at me, the shock evident on her face.  I’d been thinking about it lately.  Toying with the idea of it.  I hadn’t gotten much backlash after releasing my statement about the video.  The media seemed to mostly have decided to move on to more interesting, scandalous pastures.  Some small voice in the back of my head had been slowly getting strong and loud.  Maybe I could stay.  Maybe there was a place here for me.

“Do you love him—“ She starts, and I shoot her a sharp look, then tilt my head toward Gemma.  She is still playing with her ice cream, but little ears often have a way of absorbing more than you’d think.

“He’s more than I’ve ever….” I fade off, feeling emotion catch my voice in my throat.  Rachel looks at me, her eyes suddenly a bit glassy.  She reaches over and covers my hand with hers.  “I care about him so much, Rach.  I never thought…” I shake my head and swallow hard.  Rachel smiles then, gently as she pats my hand.

“It’s a good feeling, right? Being with someone who accepts you, no matter what.  Really feeling that trust.” She whispers.  I look at her, and she is suddenly crying, without making any noise.  But a single tear falls down her cheek.  I frown, worried at her surprising rush of emotions.

“Rach?” I say softly, leaning forward.  She shakes her head, brushes the tear away roughly and almost immediately her face clears, as if the emotions just evaporated into thin air.

“Sorry.  I don’t mean to make this about me.” She says with a joyless laugh.

“What’s going on?” I ask, concerned.

“I can’t have kids.” Her words floor me, and I feel my stomach drop.  We’ve had conversations like this before, but she’s never said it so bluntly, so succinctly.

“What? Are you sure?” I blink, waiting.  Rachel nods and bites her lip as she brushing away more tears.

“We went to a specialist.  It’s me.  I’m the reason.  We’ve been trying and trying and just….it’s me.  It’s me.” She keeps repeating it, saying ‘it’s me’, over and over.  Her fault.  I slide out of my side of the booth and over to her side, taking her in my arms.  She lets me hug her, and we stay like that for a moment, quiet.

“Rachel, are you sad?” Gemma’s small voice comes from across the table, realizing that Rachel is wiping quickly at her nose with a napkin.

“I’m fine, Gems.  I’m okay.” Rachel smiles at Gemma, and Gemma scoots off her side of the booth and pushes in next to us, resting her head on Rachel’s side.  She squeezes Rachel and we all laugh softly.

“Thank you.  You’re the sweetest little thing.” Rachel hugs Gemma back.

“Gems, want to go get some crayons?” I ask, motioning to the small table a few feet away with buckets of crayons and coloring paper for the kids.  Gemma looks at Rachel, concerned still, but then nods when Rachel gives her a reassuring smile. 

Gemma goes over to the table, grabbing a bucket and some color sheets, before bringing them back and getting to work back on the other side of the booth.  Once again oblivious to the adult heartache on the other side of the table. 

“Are you sure?” I ask, looking at my sister.  She looks older, suddenly.  Drained.  She nods and shrugs. 

“Yes.  They’re not even sure what’s going on…it’s just…” She looks away, frustrated, heartbroken, sick with the truth. 

“It’s not your fault, you know that, Rachel? This stuff happens.  It doesn’t make you any less—“ I start and she does what she does best, brushes me off gently, nodding as she takes a deep breath.

“Sam has been phenomenal.  He really has.” She blinks and looks away. 

“I love you, Rach.” I pull her in again, hugging her tight.  She hugs me back and I feel her let out a tiny sob, trying her best to hold it together in the busy ice cream shop.  “You’ll be a mom someday.  I know it.  Even if it’s not the route you thought it would happen.  It’ll still happen.” I whisper, and then kiss her forehead.  She nods and we are both quiet, turning to watch Gemma color, lost in our own thoughts.

We are only quiet for a few minutes before the counter girl, Tania, comes over to our table.

“I’m sorry to bother you.” She looks nervous, wringing her hands as she does.  Both Rachel and I sit up, smiling at the young girl.

“It’s cool.  What’s up, Tania?” Rachel asks, smoothing her hair back into place, ever my calm, cool, collected sister.

“I just wanted to let you know that there’s some…ah, photographers outside the shop.  They aren’t allowed in here but, um, I thought you would want to know for when you left.” Tania says, and her eyes flick to me.  My stomach sinks as I sit up straighter, looking out the wide picture windows in the front of the shop.  Sure enough, camping out just across the street with their giant telephoto lenses, were three or four paparazzi.

“Thank you for letting us know, Tania.” I smile at the girl, and she looks relieved.

“No problem. I love your music. Bye.” She says awkwardly, then scurries back behind the counter.  I turn to Rachel, feeling a bit panicked.  I’d been so lucky for so long.  Nearly the whole summer without a picture.  Without being stalked wherever I went.  Without the rude comments, the poking and prodding. 

“What should we do?” I frown, and then look at Gemma. 

  1.   I have Gemma.  I can only imagine the headlines if I walk outside with her.  The idea that her sweet, innocent face will be paired with those sleazy headlines makes my stomach churn.  My thoughts turn to Tom, and I wonder how angry he will be.  How mad and disappointed he’d be to see his daughter’s face all over the internet.  I shiver and look back at my sister, trying not to panic.  Rachel seems to be thinking the same thing as me, as I watch dark clouds seem to pass over her face.  The mood changes quickly, as we both are in business mode.  Neither of us want our photos taken, and we definitely don’t want Gemma exposed to that.



“I’ll call an uber.  Something with tinted windows.  You get Gems ready.” She nods toward Gemma, who is furiously scribbling over a picture of a sea creatures.  Rachel starts opening the app for the taxi service on her phone, frowning as she tries to find a car that will offer some privacy.

“Hey, Gems, you ready?” I ask, sliding over next to the little girl.  She nods and points to her drawing.

“This fish looks like daddy, right? I’ll give this to him.  It has the same eyes.” She’d colored the fish eyes blue, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s totally your dad!” I smile at her and she beams.  We put the crayons back, and I tuck her picture into my bag.

“Where are we going now? Home?” Gemma asks, jumping off of the seat and waiting.  I reach for her, tugging her back close to me, one eye on the big windows and the men waiting outside.

“Yes.  Hey, do you want to play a funny game?” I ask.  I reach into my bag and pull out a light cotton scarf I keep in there.  Gemma nods, looking at me with big, happy eyes.  My heart aches a bit.  This isn’t fair. 

“So, you know how I’m on tv sometimes?” I ask her, as I reach for her and begin gently pushing her hair from her face.  She lets me, and I keep playing with her curls, tugging them back until I’ve pulled it all into a loose ponytail. 

“Yes.  You’re on the surf commercials.  You’re wearing a purple bikini.  I’ve only ever seen you wear your black bikini.  Daddy says that’s his favorite.” Gemma twirls as I gently wrap my scarf around her small shoulders.  I frown.

“He said that?”

“No. He just looks at you a lot.” She giggles and tugs at the scarf that I’ve settled over her head and shoulders.

“Anyway.” I glance at my sister, who gives me a thumbs up.  “So, sometimes people like to take my picture.” I tug Gemma closer, as she starts wiggling and dancing her way around the booth. 

“Yup. I know.” She says simply. 

“Well, there’s some people outside that want to take my picture right now.  So we’re going to play a game.  We are going to hide from them. Like hide and seek.  Does that sound fun?” I ask.  I’m trying not to scare her.  Trying to make it seem like fun, and I suppose it could be.  But it can also be a bit frightening, especially for a child.  A bunch of strangers you don’t know, their flashes going off in your face, standing in front of you, yelling things at you.  Usually they are friendly, but not always.  You never know until you’re there, their cameras mere feet from your face.

“’Sure.” Gemma nods and seems genuinely thrilled to be wearing the scarf.  I breathe out.

“So, Gems.  When we leave the ice cream shop, Billie is going to hold you.  You’re going to hide your face against her, okay? And we’ll pull the scarf over your head too.  And we are gonna do the very best we can not to let them take any pictures!” Rachel keeps her voice high, light as possible, exaggerating words to make it seem more like a game.  A very strange game, but Gemma seems okay with it.  I think of Tom and wish he were here.  He’d be able to just take Gemma and leave, and then Rach and I could deal with the paparazzi.  My heart beats a bit faster.

“I play hide and seek all the time with Rosie and Daddy.  This will be easy.” She tugs the scarf over her eyes and peeks at me between her mass of curls, and the gauzy fabric.

“You’re gonna be the absolute best at this game.” I say, looking nervously at Rachel. Rachel gives me a reassuring smile and nods at me. “Rachel has a really fancy car picking us up.  So we’re going to take a car home, okay?” I glance at Gemma, who nods with excitement. 

“Okay, Uber is right around the corner.  Ready, girls?” She stands up.  I reach down, picking up Gemma, who immediately pulls the scarf over her head and face, giggling as she does this.  Hiding from the paparazzi.  Not something that kids should normally have to do.  I feel bad for a moment, but then Rachel is tugging me toward the doors, so we are ready when the car shows up.

“It’s a black SUV.” She says over her shoulder as we head toward the front of the store.

“Thank you!” Rachel says to Tania, as we pause at the doors.  I look at my sister, and she shrugs at me.

“It’s time for my fifteen minutes of fame!” She says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.  Rachel has had her picture taken before by paparazzi.  When she would come to visit me, she’d get a taste of my life.  Always surrounded.  Always hounded.  But it’s been so long since they’d tracked me down, that I feel out of practice.  Rusty.  I straighten my shoulders, and look down at Gemma.  She has one eye closed, one eye open, as she looks up at me.

“You ready, Gems? Hide and seek.  Don’t let the silly photographer’s see you! I’ll let you know when you win.” I smile at her, and kiss the top of her scarf clad head.  Gemma nods and then giggles against me as she presses her face into my shoulder and chest.  I make sure the scarf is tucked around her, covering as much of her as I can, and then we make a mad dash for it.

We take them by surprise, and so when we get out onto the sidewalk, they aren’t ready for us.  Rachel leads the way to the SUV, which is waiting just a few yards away.  I keep my head down as best as possible, but I’m also carrying and worrying about Gemma.  I am already wondering what Tom’s reaction will be when I tell him.

When the photographers realize it’s us, they rush across the street, and immediately start taking pictures.  I squeeze Gemma and I feel her giggle. Thank god.  I don’t want her to be scared.

“Baby!! Baby! Look here! You look amazing, baby!” They start yelling, and what looked like three or four photographers turns into about ten.  I feel a panicked rush in my chest, but I feel Rachel grab my arm and lead me faster down the sidewalk.

“Baby! Rachel! Baby, how are you? What have you been up to all summer? We’ve missed you! Baby!” The voices are louder, and Gemma squirms against me.

“Almost there.” I murmur to her, and squeeze.  We finally reach the SUV, and the driver seems to realize what’s going on.  Thankfully, he jumps out, opening the back door for us.  Rachel pushes me inside the car, and then follows behind me.  The driver shuts the door behind us, and we are given a moment in blissful silence, metal and tinted glass between us and the cameras.

“We won!! You were amazing!” I exclaim, pulling the scarf off Gemma’s head making her laugh.

“We won!” She giggles and thrusts her hands into the air.  Rachel sighs, looking relieved, as we both got to work buckling Gemma in.  The driver returned to his seat, and glanced behind him, his eyes landing on me.

“Well I’ll be! Didn’t know I’d be driving a celebrity.  Nice to meet you, ladies.  I’m Roger.” He smiles at me warmly, and I breathe a final sigh of relief.  There is no lechery in his eyes when he recognizes me and I am forever grateful for that.

“Thank you, Roger. Nice to meet you, too.  Do you mind driving around for a bit? I don’t want them to follow us.” I ask.  He salutes me and smiles at Rachel and Gemma, before turning back around.

“Wherever you ladies would like.  I’ll be your chariot today.” Roger said, and took off at a good pace, leaving the photographers in our dust.

 

 ****

I pace around Tom’s house, going from room to room, straightening up.  After the ice cream fiasco, he’d called to say that he had to take Rosie to get her blood taken, and then he had to go straight to the Bar.  I had wanted to tell him about what had happened, but he had been rushed and getting ready to drive Rosie to the specialists.  I asked if Rosie was okay, and he said yes, just routine stuff they had to take care of.

He told me I could drop Gemma off at Rosie’s later, if I needed a break, but I knew Rosie would be exhausted after a day of being poked and prodded.  We stopped by to make her dinner, and I had felt the early morning events sitting heavily on my chest.

“You seem distracted, sweetheart.” Rosie said, sitting back in her chair.  She sighed, and wrapped her hands around her mug of tea.  Gemma was in the other room, watching her snowman movie for the millionth time.  We had just finished eating, and I began to clean up and wrap up a plate for Tom.

“Sorry. Do I?” I busied myself with the chores.  Rosie’s eyes followed me around the room.

“Just a bit.  Are you okay? I can watch Gems for the rest of the evening if you need a night off.  I know you’ve…sort of dove head first into this whole thing.  It can be overwhelming.  I understand.” She said warmly.  I looked at her, surprised, shaking my head.

“Oh, I’m fine.  Gemma is seriously the sweetest little thing.  Sassy, but sweet.” I assure her.  Rosie laughs and nods.

“This is true.  So what’s bothering you then?” She picks up the plates from the table and hands them to me.  I scrape them quickly, rinse them off and put them in the dishwasher.

“Has Tom had a girlfriend since Becca?” I ask, quiet.  It’s not the question I really want to ask, but it’s what comes out.  Rosie lifts an eyebrow, and then blinks.

“Not that I know of.  Becca really did a number on him.  It wasn’t an easy situation, and still isn’t.” Rosie said after a beat.  “Now, what would you really like to ask me?” Rosie pushed. I let out a small, humorless chuckle.

“I think I’m in love with him.  And I don’t know…” I fade off.  The words have finally materialized, and now they hang in the air.  I know I’m in love with him.  And I’m terrified that he doesn’t feel the same way.  Or that I’ve rushed too fast into this tight knit family.

“Oh, Billie.” Rosie sighs gently, a warm smile brightening her tired face.  I shake my head, shrug my shoulders.  I’m used to feeling in control.  I’m used to calling the shots and having people listen. But I don’t know what to do in this situation.

“What do I do?” I frown, and Rosie laughs.

“You tell him, honey.  You always tell them.” She says, and then reaches forward, squeezing my hands which I’ve been wringing absentmindedly in front of myself.

 

 ****

Tom gets home late that night.  Later than normal. I’m sitting on the couch, having cleaned practically every surface of the small house. 

“Hi.” I jump up as he walks in, looking worn out.  He’s been on the run all day.  Tom smiles when he sees me, brushing a hand through his hair, making it stand messily awry.  He kicks his shoes off and walks over toward me.

“Hello.  What have you been up to? It looks amazing in here.” He laughs as he pulls me into a hug.  I hug him back, feeling my thoughts race. 

“Stress cleaning.” I say softly.  Tom pulls back, his brow furrowed.

“Are you alright? Is Gemma okay?” He asks.  I nod quickly.

“Yes, but…” I push him on the chest, gesturing for him to sit.  He sits down on the couch and I launch into the entire story of earlier that afternoon.  I tell him about the ice cream shop, and the paparazzi.  I tell him how I did whatever I could to hide Gemma, to hide her face.  I tell him about the little game we play.  And then, I pull up the photos on my phone.  The photos that have shown up just hours after they were taken.

The headlines vary.

_Baby Darling Hiding in Hometown._

_Baby’s Secret Life_

_Baby’s New World_

Tom stares at my phone, scrolling quickly through the photos.  Gemma is covered in all of them, but the text that accompanies the photos speculates wildly about who she is. A secret child. A new job I’ve taken as a nanny. My sister’s child. And…the child of the man I’m dating. 

His eyes move quickly, and I watch as his jaw clenches, and his brow furrows more and more.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried…” I don’t know what to say, but the mood between us has gotten very serious.  He hasn’t said a word since I launched into the story.  Tom stands and sets my phone carefully down on the coffee table. 

“I need a minute.” He says, his voice clipped. I stand up too, and he turns and disappears from the room, down the hall toward Gemma’s room, where she’s sleeping. 

I wait, hands clenched, feeling angry and sad and desperately out of control of the situation.  I haven’t felt this bad since…since my personal photos showed up splashed all over the internet.  I remember that night.  I spent it drinking vodka, staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, alone in a mansion full of people.

I turn and walk into the kitchen and start tea.  I wonder if he’ll ask me to leave.  If he won’t want to see me anymore.  I suppose we both knew this was a possibility, but neither of us wanted to face it.  I was living in a bubble.   A perfect little bubble protected from everything I’d been running from.  And now it was all catching up to me.

About ten minutes later, I hear Tom leave Gemma’s room, and come back.  He walks quietly into the kitchen, and I brace myself.  When I turn around, instead of anger, I find something else.  He looks much more relaxed than earlier, more tired than anything else.

“Tom? I’m so sorry.” I say again.  He walks over, and stops in front of me, and then takes my hand, gently in his.  I hold my breath.  I have no idea what he will say.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly.  I feel emotions well in my chest and throat.  I nod.

“I’m used to it.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He looks at me, his eyes deep blue.  I can see the slightly darkened circles under his eyes.  He works so hard for Gemma, for their life together.

“I’m so scared. I was so scared. I knew I could t-take care of her but…I feel so terrible that I…let you down.” I whisper, and my voice catches as I speak what I’ve been dying to say all day.  Tom pulls me into his arms, and I bury my face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him.  I take handfuls of his shirt, bunching it in my hands as I hold him tightly.

“Billie, you didn’t let me down.  I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He murmurs into my hair, and I feel a hot tears begin to fall.  I keep quiet, holding him closer.

“I talked to Gemma. She doesn’t seem upset in the least bit. You did the right thing, Billie.” He assured me, running a hand up and down my back.  I rest my forehead against his chest, hiding my face so I can get myself together.  A short, quick sob wracks my shoulders and Tom leans down, pushing his face against my neck.

“Shh, Billie. I’m sorry I was angry earlier. It wasn’t with you.  It was with those disgusting photographers.  I’ve never…” He pauses.  “I’ve seen photos of you before, back when you were in California.  But seeing photos of you now, in places I know, and now that I know you…and you’ve got my daughter in your arms, and I can see her stuffed dog she got for her last birthday peeking out of your bag…” He sways and I lift my face up and tuck it into the crook of his neck.  We move together, and I wish I could hug him closer.

“It makes it real. My life.” I whisper.  He nods.  I take a deep breath and say what I fear. 

“Tom, it’s not going to go away.  The paparazzi, the articles online, the gossip… It’s a part of my life.  I need you to know that.” I say.  We pull back, and I look into his eyes.  Tom takes a minute, and leans in, kissing me gently.  His kiss is just a simple, sweet brush of his lips, our forehead resting against each other. 

The words I said to Rosie earlier.  My admission to her.  It hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t say it.  Not yet.

“All that stuff isn’t going to go away, I know that, Billie.  But what about you?” He breathes, his voice soft, barely above a whisper.  I feel something roll through me, making my whole world waver slightly, like heat waves off hot pavement in the summer.  I hold my breath.

“What about you, Billie? Will you be going away?” He asks. 

I don’t know how to answer him.  I think about the career I’ve built from scratch.  The world and identity I left behind in California.  I think about the tiny family I’ve built here in such a short time.  Am I running from my problems? Just covering them up, until the rug will be pulled out from under my feet?  I don’t know what to say.

“I’m not going anywhere tonight.  I’m right here tonight.” I reply. 

He doesn’t answer, and we are quiet for some time.  We stay swaying in the kitchen, dancing to music that is slow, and unwavering, and that only we can hear.  Neither of us know the steps, but we keep moving, because if we stop, then it’ll disappear. 


	22. 21: summer's end, home, an accident.

The summer is slowly winding to a close. Tom’s classes are just around the corner, and it is as if we can feel the time sifting slowly from the hourglass. In the evenings, he starts preparing for them. He spends most of his free time at the kitchen table with his laptop, glasses on, hair a mess from tugging at it idly, mug of tea slowly cooling on the worn wood surface. He goes off in his own world, readying a syllabus that he changes every semester. He’s picked up one more class than last year, as he figured he’d have a tiny bit more time during the day since Gemma is starting kindergarten. It’s an unspoken understanding that things are going to be changing, and soon. The days are getting shorter, and the magic of the past summer seems to be fading.

He hasn’t said it in as many words, but I can tell he’s stressed already. Stressed by the idea that his little girl is going to school. Stressed by the roughly opened bills, and unopened envelopes that are stacked on the little ledge in the kitchen. I haven’t brought up my offer again. I somehow know that he’d never accept it. It makes me sad, even frustrated, but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re alone in a fight. As close as we’ve grown in these few short months, our haphazardly made team is just that. Haphazard.

It’s nearing seven in the morning, and I’ve been awake long enough to know that I won’t be going back to sleep. Tom rolls onto his stomach, sliding a heavy, warm arm across my stomach. He’s still asleep and doesn’t wake as he holds onto me.

I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave him. And Gemma. And Rosie, Rach and Sam. But a decision has to be made soon—something more permanent, and lately, I’m only seeing one viable option. Shorty still emails and texts me daily. He’s gotten over his anger after I released my own unapologetic statement. He got over it even more when he found that people still supported me. Perhaps even more than before. And the offers were still rolling in. The machine never stops. People have placed a dollar sign on my head, on my voice, on the persona of Baby, and even though I haven’t sung in weeks, it doesn’t matter. They want to cash in. Shorty wants to cash in. And I don’t really blame him. I haven’t had this much buzz, this much demand surrounding my name since the early days of my career, when my first number one had come out. Strangely, I’ve become something of a myth—an urban legend. The pop singer with the sex tape who disappeared.

It’s been over a week since the paparazzi encounter. And I’ve only run into them one more time since then, this time alone. I was able to dodge them by slipping into a store. Most of the locals have been surprisingly cool about it—kind and willing to keep my secrets. They don’t want the attention brought to their little town either. So they mostly don’t blab to the press when they’re asked if they’ve seen me around. And I do my best not to draw attention to myself.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Tom’s voice is deep, rough with sleep. He speaks without opening his eyes.

“Just thinking. Why aren’t you?” I smile and run a hand through his hair, fingertips through slightly unruly curl. The sun’s bleached his hair nearly golden blond, curling at the ends, making him look younger, and carefree.

“I can hear you thinking.” He murmurs. I laugh softly, and he gathers me closer.

“Sing to me.” He whispers then, his mouth against my neck as he nuzzles me. I flush, feeling heat go to my face.

This is something new. It started from one night of a few too many drinks. We’d fallen into bed, and I had somehow ended up singing to him. It had been jokingly, a made up song about the night we’d had. He had thought it was hilarious, and though we’d laughed then, it had quickly turned into something new—a routine of sorts.

Now, whenever we have a quiet moment alone, he will ask me. In that voice of his, soft and calm, cool and politely urging. “Sing to me.” He’ll say.

“What do you want me to sing?” I whisper into the quiet morning air. We’d opened the bedroom window the night before, letting the fresh night air in. There had been a surprising cool off earlier in the week.

“A sea shanty, my mermaid.” He laughs in a sleepy way, and I can feel him relax against me. If I could take a photo of this moment, I would. Save it and keep it with me always. The cool, misty morning light filtering in, the sound of the ocean waves crashing yards away. Tom, tangled up in me and white sheets. His bare skin against mine. A perfect morning.

I start singing, a low murmur in the quiet morning. I make up words, and a melody, and I pepper him with kisses in between sentences. He groans softly, deep in his chest, content where he is against me.

I want to tell him I love him. I want to tell him that I will stay, and I will find a way to change my career to fit this new life. But I can’t find the words to do it. Mostly because, just when I think I will find the courage, I think of rejection. Of how much he has riding on this—on me. And how I am terrified of letting him down. My past is far from squeaky clean, and just because I’ve run from it, doesn’t mean it won’t come back, stronger and meaner than ever. We got a taste of it, just a tiny taste, the other day with the paparazzi, and it stills sits heavy between us. Unspoken, undiscussed. Just an ugly bruise that neither of us want to talk about.

“Your voice is beautiful. You’re beautiful.” He whispers after I fade off. I don’t reply, mostly because I can’t. I don’t want him to hear the wobble in my voice.

What I wouldn’t do to take back recording that video. So that this scary, humiliating monster of a mistake wouldn’t exist in my life. But then, I would probably have never returned home like I did. And I would have never met Tom. Without one, I wouldn’t have the other.

“Rosie’s birthday is tomorrow. We’re going to have a party over at Sam and Rachel’s. What do you think? Got any plans?” He asks. I smile, and so does he, as we both know that my schedule is pretty open.

“I didn’t know it was her birthday. That sounds great.” I nod. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately—Rachel’s confession in the ice cream shop, my relationship with Tom, my career. It seems all to be coming to a head as the summer has started to fade away. It scares me, and I get the sudden urge to stay in this bed, and never leave.

“You can talk to me, you know. Whatever it is.” Tom’s voice is soft, intimate. I turn to look at him, and am struck by the gentle look on his face. I’ve never met a more kind person. And when I needed it most. And the idea that I could somehow hurt him—my career, my lifestyle could somehow damage him and his family…makes me feel sick to my stomach.

“Rachel and Sam can’t have kids. Rachel is devastated because it’s something going on with her.” I whisper, my voice a bare scrape. I know it’s not really my place to tell Rachel’s personal details, but for some reason with Tom, it is different. He won’t tell a soul, and it seems he’s already somehow connected to mine. Just an extension.

His face falls, and he looks nearly pained at my words.

“I’m sorry.” He replies, and I hear the sadness in his voice.

“I just hope they can work through it, you know?” I say absently. I search his face as he nods.

“Do you want more children?” The words come out of nowhere, and I hold my breath after I say them. Tom eyes move slowly, sweeping over my face before settling on my gaze. His mouth tilts in a smile but doesn’t quite get there. He seems hesitant at first to answer, but then he speaks.

“I love Gemma more than anything. She’s my daughter, one hundred percent. But yes. I do. I want more children. I would love to have a child with the woman I love. To be there for her when she goes through that—our baby growing inside her. To watch it all happen.” He swallows and reaches up and gently sweeps a hand down the side of my face.

“What about you? Do you want children, Billie?” He asked. I feel my heart hammer in my chest, a flutter that turns into the vibrating thrum of a wire.

“Yes. With the right man. And if my career were in the right place.” My voice barely above a whisper. Tom nods, almost somberly and then leans forward and kisses me, just a brushing of lips.

“I’m sorry about Rachel. But they will find a way. Sometimes the answers are right in front of us, even if it’s not the easiest one.” He says softly. I nod, and then kiss him again, this time a bit deeper. “Things that should happen always find a way.”

I feel like there an answer lying somewhere right in front of me. And in order to get there, I need to make a few phone calls, and finalize a few decisions of my own.

 

**** 

 

There is a surprising amount of people that show up for Rosie’s birthday cookout. Some people I recognize from around town, and some people that I’ve never met. There is the occasional lingering stare, but for the most part, people don’t seem to mind that I’m there. Word about my hunkering down in Lewes has by now made it through the town, and I’m more like a rare animal than an endangered species. Fun to stare at, but not all that interesting.

There are at least twenty people on the deck, and just as many more hanging out inside the house, and out on the sandy beach in front of the deck. We have planned for an evening cookout, so the hot August sun won’t be beating down on us quite so hard. Rosie needs the shade anyway, and with the sun slowly going down, she can relax a bit more in the lowering temperatures.

Tom is busy mingling with people, being a host of sorts, though it’s not his house. But Rosie is his family, blood or not, and he treats her as such. He wants everyone at her party to have a good time. Sam mans the grill, as always, oscillating back and forth between cracking jokes and good naturedly yelling at people. Rachel keeps herself busy making sure people have food and drinks. She seems subdued but still somewhat cheerful.

“So much fuss over a little old lady.” Rosie chuckles, sitting back in her deck chair, a cold soda resting on the arm. I smile at her, brushing my hair off my shoulders. I’ve worn a strapless sun dress, and I can feel the lingering sun heating my bare skin.

“You’re worth fussing over, Rosie.” I assure her, as she rolls her eyes and swats at me with one hand. I can hear Tom laughing somewhere across the deck, and when I look up, I see his tall, lean form leaning against the deck railing. Gemma shoots by, in a gaggle of children all about her age, the small group moving in formation like fish in the sea.

“You seem comfortable here. Happy.” Rosie gives me a smile, and when I look at her, her eyes are where mine were just a few moments ago. I feel a warmth in my chest, and I can’t help but feel that same heat move to my face.

“I am happy. Very happy.”

“Much happier than when I saw you a few months ago. It hasn’t been so long. Such a change in such a short amount of time. Must mean something.” She says this casually, though I know it’s more than a passing thought. I reach over, and squeeze her hand gently.

“I hope it means something.” I say softly. She blinks slowly, and then squeezes back.

“Don’t take home for granted, darling. It can be the most fleeting feeling of all. As children, it is everywhere. As adults, it can be something we forever chase. If you find it, don’t let it go. And I’m not talking about a place. Home can be people, too. In fact, it usually is.” She takes a deep, content breath and keeps looking forward, out at the busy scene in front of us.

“Rosie?” I say softly, my eyes resting on Tom. He’s down in the sand now, chasing Gemma and a few other kids. His arms are out wide, and he’s yelling at them like some sort of sand monster. Gemma is squealing and laughing, and the other kids are giggling and screeching as they try to hide behind her and trick Tom into chasing someone else.

“Yes, Billie Darling?” She says, smiling as she watches Tom as well. I hesitate and then shake my head.

“Happy Birthday.” I say after a beat, and then pull her into a hug. She laughs softly, and hugs me back, patting my arms as I release her.

The evening wears on, slowly and evenly like most perfect summer nights. The party crowd hasn’t even begun to thin as the moon rises above the ocean. The kids are still in full gear, as they run around with sparklers and glow sticks, things left over from fourth of July celebrations. The adults sit on beach chair in the sand watching, or on the deck with cool drinks in their hands.

I am sitting off to the side, lost in my own thoughts. It’s the sort of night that has given me time to think, despite being surrounded by so many people. It’s almost been easier to disappear—to fade into the background and just be an observer.

And I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to be back here permanently. The place I called home as a child, but never really felt like I belonged. I’m surrounded by different people now. People that have embraced me, almost cocoon like, in the safety of a small, private town. I think of returning back to LA—the traffic, the fast pace, the people…and my chest starts to feel tight and heavy.

“There you are. I thought maybe you’d slipped off.” Tom comes out of nowhere, and slides onto the bench beside me. He smiles brightly, his face well lit by the tiki torches on the deck. His hair is messy from playing with the kids earlier, but he looks happy and relaxed.

I lean over against him, and nuzzle my head under his chin. Tom wraps an arm around my shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“Are you having fun?” He asks softly. I nod.

“Yes. I think Rosie is too.” We both look to where she is, sitting in a deck chair like some sort of queen, being brought cake and presents from different people. Tom laughs and I join in.

“She says she doesn’t like the fuss, but she’s eating it up.” He grins. The group of kids—somewhat thinned by now (they were dropping like flies, and there were quite a few of them who was zonked out on deck chairs, or clinging to their parent’s legs by this point), comes running by us, still talking animatedly about something to do with dragons, police officers and wizards.

“Want to walk down to the water?” I ask, tilting my head forward. I feel the sudden need for a bit of privacy. Just a bit. And taking the few yards down to the ocean surf, will allow us some space. Tom nods and stands up, taking my hand in his as he pulls me off the bench. We make our way away from the party, leaving the warm amber glow of the deck for the dark, inky blue of the moonlit night.

The sand is cool and soft under my feet, as we walk arm in arm down toward the ocean. Tom is quiet, but he has a tight hold on me, and I can feel his fingers playfully squeezing against my waist. I feel nervous, taut with the energy of the day and my own feelings.

We stop on the hard, wet packed sand, where the ocean just barely washes up. We can hear the noisy chatter of the party behind us, but only occasionally can make out a specific word or two. Tom turns me, gently, and then kisses me, his big hands coming up to cup my face. I feel it with him. That elusive “home” that Rosie was talking about.   I feel it more than I’ve ever felt it before. And I don’t want to let it go.

I melt against him, and kiss him back, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Mmm…”He moans against my mouth and then gently pulls away. “You’re like a drug to me.” He grins, I can see his white teeth in the moonlight. I smile, but I feel some reservations, deep inside me.

“Tom? Do you feel at home here?”I ask, my voice just audible over the constant crash of the waves. He frowns slightly and leans back, trying to get a good look at me.

“Well.” He pauses. “I didn’t at first. I didn’t for a long time. But, yeah, it’s beginning to feel more and more like home. It’s home for Rosie, and for Gemma. And they’re my home, so…” He slides his hands over my hips, and then lets go to take my hands. I press my lips together, feeling the rapid hammering of my heart. Nervousness. Like stage fright. Like the feeling I get right before performing in front of thousands of people. Except perhaps, this is worse.

“Where is home to you, Billie?” He asks after a beat too long of silence. I chew nervously on my lip, and then look down toward the dark, shapeless sand.

“I haven’t known…for a long time.” I say softly. He squeezes my hands, but doesn’t speak. “But lately, I’ve been feeling like this…like Lewes could be home.” I manage. He still doesn’t speak. My heart rate doubles.

“I’m in love with you, Tom. I’ve fallen so hard for you that it frightens me more than anything has ever…frightened me in my entire life. But…it doesn’t really seem to matter. I’m just completely, totally, in love with you.” I can barely breathe as I speak. I can barely hear the words coming from my mouth, for the blood rushing in my ears is louder than the ocean waves.

Tom still doesn’t speak, and I can’t make out his face in the dark. His hands are still on mine, though he hasn’t moved or squeezed or given me any sort of sign that he’s even heard what I just confessed.

A moment later, or perhaps somewhere in the same breath as my statement, there is a loud upheaval of noise that comes from the direction of Sam and Rachel’s house. It starts as a stark, simple scream in the night that cuts straight through the air, over the crash of the waves. After that, there is a half second of silence and then exclamation fills the still air. My stomach plummets, and I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Gemma.” I breathe. We both know that voice—the terrified, painful yell that is gut wrenching in it’s clarity. Tom drops my hands in that instance, and then we both go racing across the sand.

 

 ****

 

The hospital lighting is a stark, depressing comparison to the inky midnight blue of the beach and the amber glow of the tiki torches on the deck. Everything seems slightly pallid and off green. Our small group waits in the emergency room, though it wasn’t quite necessary for all of us to come. No one wanted to stay home though.

Sam and Rachel sit across from me, flipping idlly through months old celebrity magazines. Rachel has already found pictures of me in two of them. Rosie sits next to me, a bundle of nerves though she hasn’t said much. I can tell she is also tired—worn out by the party, and then the excitement. I am clutching a cup of lukewarm vending machine coffee, my leg shaking slightly as I scrape my fingernails over my palm over and over again.

Gemma had fallen down the entire flight of stairs on the deck at Rachel and Sam’s. It had been an accident—a combination of being exhausted from a day of playing, and the simple clumsiness of being a five year old. She’d landed at the bottom, half in the sand, half on the wooden platform. Rachel and Sam had been the first ones to get to her, and Rachel had been sobbing.

There hadn’t been much they could do. Tom had collapsed besides her as we ran up. I was shaking uncontrollably, adrenaline coursing through me like a drug. She looked like a ragdoll, lying nearly motionless. Gemma’s body seemed small, and her color was off.

“Gemma? Gemma, it’s okay, love.” He bent down to scoop up Gemma, who was lying nearly curled in a ball on the ground. Rachel shot out a hand, stopping him.

“She might have hit her head. I think she was unconscious for a second.” Rachel says in a rushed, panicked voice. Gemma has started to cry, a low, frightened wail.

“Okay, don’t touch or move her.” Tom said, surprisingly level headed. “Gemma, baby, where does it hurt?” He leaned down, pressing his palms against her forehead, and over her abdomen. Gemma was crying, wincing in pain, and barely able to speak or communicate, the way children could get when in too much pain. Sam walked over, his phone at his ear, obviously talking to a 911 operator.

“Oh, god, Tom. I’m so sorry. I should have been watching her on those stairs—“

“Don’t, Rach. This is hardly your fault.” He stopped my sister from her guilt, “We shouldn’t have been down by the water. It’s no one’s fault.” He shot a glance at me, and though it wasn’t angry, it was hardly friendly. I didn’t take it personally though, knowing that he was stressed and rightfully concerned. I crouched down next to Gemma, trying to calm her. It killed me to watch her writhe in pain, and I was almost afraid to touch her—in case it hurt her more.

The ambulance arrived quickly, only a few minutes later. They took precautions when carrying her into the vehicle, in case she had hurt her back or neck falling. Gemma’s right arm was sticking out at a strange angle as they’d moved her, and I could barely look at her as she screamed in pain. Tom looked heartbroken, his emotions displayed plainly on his face as he stood by, unable to help ease her pain. He had ridden to the hospital with her, and then we’d all arrived a short time later, ready to wait for news.

It was over an hour before Tom comes out to the waiting room. He looks absolutely gutted—exhausted, worried, heartsick, when he steps through the electric doors and into the small, pale green room. I stand immediately, and everyone else follows.

“How is she?”

“Is she okay?”

“What’d the doctor say?”

Tom raises a hand, his eyes sweep the room but they don’t lock with mine. I feel selfish, terrible that I want so badly for him to look at me. I need the reassurance, the comfort, and I want to be that for him as well.

“She’s okay. She’s fine.” He says calmly and I feel the relief sweep through the room. My stomach settles for the first time in hours. Rosie sinks against me, her hands crossed at chest. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, and feel every muscle sag with relief.

“Is she hurt?” Sam asks, stepping forward. Tom takes a deep breath.

“Well, she has a concussion. And she broke her arm in two places. They want to keep her overnight, and maybe even a bit longer because of how hard she hit her head going down.” He explains. Rosie lets out a soft cry, and then Tom steps forward and gathers the older woman in his arms.

“She’s fine, Rosie. She’s a tough girl, you know that. My little rhino girl.” He says, and then looks up, over Rosie’s shoulders and finally locks eyes with me. I give him a tiny smile, which he returns.

“Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry. I still feel so bad. I know it’s not my fault but…oh god…” Rachel says, a small sob caught in his voice. Sam has a hand at the small of her back, but then Tom gently lets go of Rosie and pulls Rachel into a hug.

“Stop that. You’ve nothing to feel bad about. Please, Rach.” He says gently, hugging my sister tightly. Rachel is crying, though she has it under control. Sam pats Tom on the back gratefully, and when Tom releases Rachel, he then hugs Sam.

“You guys should go home. I’ll be here all night with her. I don’t want her to be scared if the pain meds wear off, or if she is confused about where she is or what happened.” Tom says. I haven’t spoken yet, my mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.

“Are you sure, Tom? We could take shifts.” Rachel suggests, and Rosie nods. He smiles, tiredness at the corners of his blue eyes.

“I’m sure. But thank you. Go home and rest, and perhaps I’ll take you up on that tomorrow.” He says. Rachel and Sam are tired, and Rosie is to the point of exhaustion. They don’t argue with Tom, and know that it’s for the best that they get some sleep so they can be helpful tomorrow.

I take a step forward, as they gather things and get ready to leave.

“Are you alright?” I say softly to Tom. I step forward, and he pulls me into his arms. It is the feeling again. The feeling of home. I feel a sob wrack my body, but I bite it back, and press a kiss to the side of his throat.

“I’m exhausted. But I’m okay. I’m okay now.” He replies, his voice low.

“Can I come back to see her? I’ll stay with you tonight.” I offer. Tom looks down at me, and I take in his face. The lines at the corners of his eyes are deepened, the crease between his eyebrows more pronounced. His hair stands ruffled and on end, and he looks completely gone.

“You can come back to see her.” He says softly and nods. I felt my heart clench, glad that he’s not turning me away. I haven’t wanted to focus on it—to dwell on the fact that I spilled my guts to him at possibly the worst timing ever. It’s selfish to be thinking of that now. Silly, really. But it’s there, bubbling up into the forefront of my mind.

We say our goodnights to Rosie, Sam and Rachel. They will drive Rosie home, and makes sure she gets there safely. The hospital isn’t far, but it’s a good twenty minute drive. Tom takes my hand after they leave, and then we make our way through the waiting room toward the double doors.

“Wait a second, I’ve got to get you a pass.” He says quietly, as he walks over toward a woman at a desk. I stand to the side, as Tom gives her my name and Gemma’s room information.

“Oh my god.” A man comes out of nowhere, and he stops right in front of me. He’s middle aged—maybe thirty five or forty, and he’s wearing scruffy jeans and a tshirt with an American eagle on it. I frown, confused as I look at this complete stranger. He is grinning wildly, rubbing his hands together in excitement.

“Baby Darling!” He exclaims as my heart and stomach sink. I glance at Tom, who is staring at the man with a rather obvious, thinly veiled look of anger and disgust.

“Sorry—“ I shake my head, but the man in front of me is nearly beside himself. The anger bubbling inside my chest swells. Do people have no boundaries at all? No sense of propriety? Coming up to someone in a hospital could quite possibly be the most rude, insensitive thing I’ve ever experienced, and my exhausted mind and shot nerves make me want to reach out and strangle this guy.

“Who would have thought I’d meet you here! I’m just here for my brother’s gallbladder surgery and low and behold—a freakin’ celebrity. Wow. God. You know, you are sexy as hell. I know all your work. _All_ of it, if you know what I mean...” He laughs loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. Tom comes up next to me now, and I can practically feel the anger radiating off of him.

“Excuse us.” Tom says in a short, clipped voice. The man in front of me holds up his hands, looking amused and thrilled with his luck.

“No problem, man. I’m just a huge fan, that’s all. Baby Darling!” He says giddily. “Baby, I’m convinced we should be together, girl.” He laughs and shrugs his shoulders. I don’t even know what to say.

I turn quickly, and Tom ushers me through the double doors, into a corridor that leads to the patient rooms.

“I’m sorry about that.” I say, as Tom walks quickly down the hall, seeming to keep one or two steps ahead of me.

“It’s ok. It’s a part of your life.” He says without looking back. I frown, but remind myself that he’s exhausted as well. We only walk past a few more rooms before he slows, and goes into one on the right side of the hall.

The light is dim, though there is a light on over the bed. A nurse is there, talking to Gemma, who seems sleepy but relaxed. She looks impossibly small in the bed, an the sight of her tiny arm in a big, bulky cast makes me gasp softly, my heart clenching.

“Billie!” She sees me, and her eyes light.

“Hi, Gems.” I grin, and push back tears. Crying would be bad, and I don’t want her to get upset.

“How are you, lady?” I ask, stepping up next to her bed. Gemma sets her head back, yawning. She’s hooked up to machines, and IVs, and she has dark circles under her eyes.

“I’m tired, but I can’t sleep yet. And my arm was hurting, but they put it in this cast. It’s hard—do you want to touch it? Daddy says people can sign their names and draw pictures later! When I go to school, my friends there can sign it!” Gemma says, her enthusiasm only slightly dampered by what I’m sure is pain meds and exhaustion.

“You’re such a brave girl, Gems.” I say, and reach forward, brushing her unruly dark curls from her face. I lightly touch her cast and then sit on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you. I cried a lot.” She whispers but smiles as she does, as if it is a well known and recognized sign of bravery.

“It’s okay to cry.” I nod.

“I know. Daddy told me I can cry all I want, and it just makes you stronger.” She sighs then, taking a deep breath. The nurse walks over, and starts taking Gemma’s vitals and fiddling with her hook ups.

I turn to Tom, who had been waiting off to the side, watching.

“It breaks my heart to see her in that big bed.” I whisper softly. He nods, and then gently tugs me over to the side, away from Gemma’s bed. The nurse is still testing her, and chatting with her quietly.

“She’s tough.” He says softly, with a short, quiet laugh. I nod, and then reach for him.

“You should go home, too. Get some sleep.” He presses his lips together, runs a hand over his face and jaw. He seems full of nervous, jittery energy. He puts his hands on his hips, and then shifts his weight.

“I can stay with you, if you want. I don’t mind.” I touch him, wrapping my hands around his forearms. Tom nods and looks off to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Get some rest, Billie. I think that’s best. I can take care of Gemma.” He looks at me then, his eyes sharp and focused through the tiredness. I take a deep breath. I can feel what he’s doing. I know this move well. It’s like pulling off a bandaid, except he’s doing it slowly, carefully.

“Okay. Sure.” I nod, letting go of his arms. “I can come back tomorrow. Want me to bring you back anything from your house? Clothes? Toiletries?” I ask, feeling a slight rumble of panic set in. I push it down.

“No, thank you though. I can take care of it. Go back to Rachel’s, Billie. Get some rest. And I’ll give you a call, okay?” He says this sentence with an edge of something in his voice. Finality. Confidence. Directness. And I feel my stomach clench, the rumble of panic turns into something like thunder.

“Tom.” I say his name, and I hear the desperation in my own voice, and I hate myself for it.

“I just need some space, Billie. A little time. Can you understand that?” He asks, his voice gentle, though his eyes are cold and not quite connecting with mine. I find it hard to swallow. Hard to breathe. I nod dumbly.

“Yes. I understand.” I say automatically. He nods and then leans forward, kissing me on the cheek, by my ear.

“Okay. Goodnight, Billie.” He gives me a quick hug, and then turns, his back toward me as he goes back toward Gemma.


	23. 22: vegas, becca, moving.

Sam is strumming softly on his guitar, bent over and stopping everyone few moments to write down notes. The studio is dimly lit, and silent except for the soothing sound of his guitar, and my occasional humming. I lean back on the couch, pulling my legs underneath me as Sam clears his throat and begins humming a melody.

I smile without thinking, and let myself fall into the music. It is an escape and it’s exactly what I need. It has been such a long time since music felt like an escape to me—that it felt like something that was safe. It feels so good to hear something, and to feel at peace again. I have Sam to thank for that. And Tom, I suppose, whose rather frequent requests for made up, nonsense songs seems to have sparked something inside of me that I had feared was dead.

“What do you think? Is that second verse too much?” Sam looks up, and I catch myself, nearly lost in my thoughts.

“It’s lovely, Sam. Really.” I squeeze my knees against my chest, feeling comfortable, and yet melancholy at the same time. Sam tilts his head and then gives me a good natured sneer.

“You’re like…50% here.   Or maybe 60 if I’m being generous.” He strums a few notes and sits back in his chair, waiting.

“I’m sorry.” I grimace and meet his eyes.

“You want to go home? It’s nearly seven.” He glances at the clock on the wall, as I shake my head slowly. If I go back to the house, then I’ll be too tempted. Too tempted to take the short walk to Tom’s. Or Rosie’s. To hope to glimpse them on the beach, or through the picture windows, finishing dinner. Too tempted to find out why it’s been three days and I’ve heard nothing from him. Not a peep.

If I’m not a short walk away, then my resolve won’t break. And I’ll keep some semblance of self respect.

I told Tom I loved him, and now I haven’t heard from him in days. I try not to dwell on it, but let’s be honest. My heart is with him, and I feel half a person without his response. I’m floating through the hours—as if I’ve taken a breath but not been able to exhale.

I fell fast. It was a few short, fantastic weeks. But…I’d thought he’d felt the same. Or that we’d at least been headed in the same direction. His absent answer to my declaration seems too obvious to ignore. And I had thought, perhaps, we’d had something special. But I’m apparently not even worth an answer, or a reply. Just a cold shoulder. Disposable. Would it be dramatic to call myself disposable? Just as I’d feared?

“You want to talk about it then?” Sam asks, strumming lightly, idly. I swallow and chew gently on my lip. I haven’t told anyone about what I’d said to Tom. I feel foolish now. Silly. Like a girl with a crush.

“Not really.” I sigh heavily and give a short, humorless laugh.

“Well, then, you keep on keeping on.” Sam shrugs. “If you want, I’ll go first?” He gives a sigh that mirrors my own and then runs a hand through his hair.

“Go ahead.” I smile warmly.

“I know you know about the stuff going on between me and your sister. She tells you everything.” He raises and eyebrow and I shrug in agreeance. “I just want to make her happy. No matter what that means. And I’m gutted that…she thinks this is all her fault. I’d do anything to make her feel better.” He looks away and then picks out a few notes on the strings.

“Have you talked to her about how you feel?” I ask.

“Yeah.” Sam nods. “I’ve told her it’s not her fault, no matter what the damn doctors say. I tell her I love her no matter what happens with the baby thing. I signed up for her—nothing else. She’s all I need. There’s other ways for us to have children.” He runs a hand over his face and then sets his guitar down, and sits back in the chair. I feel my chest tighten. His love for my sister is, for lack of better words, inspiring. It seems so simple.

“Just keep telling her that, Sam. I think that’s all you really need to do.” I say softly, feeling my eyes burn with tears. He nods, and leans forward onto his knees.

“Thanks, Bee.” His voice is rough but then he takes a deep, controlled breath. “You’re going to leave soon, aren’t you? You’ve had this air about you the last few days—like whatever magic you’d found in the beginning of the summer after coming home, has finally worn off.” He looks at me. I blink and suck in my cheeks for a second, trying to control the wave of emotion inside of me.

“I don’t think I have a place here. I’ll never get away from Baby.” I don’t want to cry, so I look away and then up at the ceiling of the studio.

“What happened with Tom?” Sam asks the million dollar question, and I feel the hot tears gather at the corner of my eyes. If I blink, they’ll fall, and it will be game over.

“Nothing. Nothing happened.” I whisper. “And therein lies the problem.”

The tears fall, despite my great effort to appear strong and unaffected. Sam gets up and goes to the desk in the corner of the studio, then comes backs a few seconds later with tissues. I thank him and dab my eyes.

“Listen, you don’t have to talk about it, Bee. You know Tom isn’t perfect. He’s got a lot of baggage too. A lot going on. Not to sound like I’m on his side or anything. But maybe he’s just as…scared as you. But you should know that you deserve the world. I’m sorry if you guys didn’t work out.” He says gently, hesitance in his voice. I nod. I appreciate his words, as I know he means them. They’re not just there to placate me, but still, I feel anger and disappointment bubble inside of me.

“Do I though? Do I deserve the world?” I shake my head, swallowing hard. “What have I even done with my life? I’m a washed up pop star, whose latest claim to fame in a sex tape I sent to my shitty ex. What do I even have to offer? A mansion full of people I don’t trust and don’t like? Another song about partying and flirting with guys at the beach?” I shake my head quickly, the frustration becoming overwhelming.

“Billie, Tom would be lucky to have you. Lucky.” Sam’s voice is calm, and so very sure. I glare at him and throw my hands up, then clench them into balls on my lap.

“He doesn’t love me, Sam. It’s just that easy.” I look down at my lap, and then let the tears fall.

 ****

 

It’s late when we get home that night. Rachel is cleaning up in her studio, her hands and arms covered in clay. Sam goes straight to her, covering her face and neck and anything that is clean with kisses.

After a few more minutes of heart to heart back at the studio, Sam and I steered back into easier, happier territory. The thing I like about Sam is he doesn’t try to fix things. He accepts things for what they are. He makes it work. I want badly to accept how things are, but I miss Tom and I miss Gemma. I’d give anything to sit down at dinner with them. Watch Gemma slurp down spaghetti noodles, smacking her lips and dropping at least one meatball on the floor. Laugh at Tom as he makes his way through half the basket of garlic bread, and then fills my wine glass to nearly overflowing.

He hasn’t called though. Or texted. Or sent smoke signals. Or messages in a bottle. I know he’s had Gemma to take care of, but I also know they’ve been home from the hospital for two days. If he’d wanted to, there must have been time to have at least given me a call, or stopped by. We nearly live within yelling distance of each other.

I leave Rachel and Sam in the kitchen, nearly making out by the stove, and disappear into my bedroom.

My phone is waiting for me on the nightstand, and I turn it on to be greeted by texts, missed calls and emails. None of which are important.

I dial Shorty’s number.

“Baby doll.” He answers right away, as if he’s been waiting for me.

“Hi.” I sit down on the edge of the bed. I remember a few months ago, when I’d woken up in my bath tub. I’d had a bottle of vodka wedged between me and the porcelain tub, and a pounding headache. I’d thought that was my low. I’m not so sure anymore.

“How are you, Baby?” Shorty asks. I can hear people in the background, and I’m sure he’s at a party of some sort. It’s only six or so in California.

“If I come back, what’s waiting for me?” I say, my voice tired and calm. Shorty is silent for a minute, and I hear some rustling. The background noise gets quieter, and muffled, and I imagine he’s left the party or gone into a room for more privacy.

“Really? You’re coming back?!” His voice is nearly shaking with excitement. “Oh, Baby, baby. You’ve no idea what’s waiting for you! Everything! I can get Oprah on the line as soon as we hang up. I’ve got movie roles. I’ve got exclusive advertising deals with three designers. Baby, I’ve even got Planet Hollywood in Vegas. They want an exclusive deal with you. One woman show, all Baby Darling, all the time!” He’s practically shouting he’s so thrilled, and I feel my stomach lurch unexpectedly. I close my eyes for a second, and try to keep my world from spinning.

“Vegas? Vegas wants me?” I ask after a minute.

“Yes, babe! Yes! Sex sells, what did I tell you?!” He shouts. “Can you see it? Me? You? Sin City?! Two year contract, Baby.” He is giddy. I think of Vegas. The noise. The lights. The neverending party. The endless barrage of anonymous people and nameless faces. There is nothing personal about Vegas. There is nothing authentic. And something in me yearns for that, suddenly. Something that won’t hurt when I walk away.

I open my eyes, into the dark room. I see nothing. I hear Shorty, still talking, still selling me on different deals. Who is Billie Darling? All I suddenly see is Baby.

 ****

The sand is soft and cool as I make my way down the beach. The sun is low in the sky, not quite ready to give up for the day. I tuck my hands in the pockets of my shorts, feeling my heart thudding through my chest. I don’t often get nervous. I’ve stood in front of millions of people, and sang my heart out. This makes that feel like nothing.

Somehow I’m not surprised when I walk up to them. They are on the beach, just in front of Tom’s house. Tom is sitting on a blanket, his back turned to me. Gemma is running circles around the blanket, her unbroken arm out like an airplane. Her other arm is in the tiny cast, and she keeps it down, protected at her side. I can hear her tiny voice, happy and far too excited. Everything is a joy to her.

It is not just the two of them. There is a third person, sitting next to Tom on the blanket. It’s been years…many years, since I’ve seen her, but I recognize her just by the back of her head. Dark, curly hair that mimics the same out of control wave as Gemma’s. Olive skin, slender frame, a loud, throaty laugh.

Becca looks comfortable and relaxed, sitting next to Tom. I watch them for a minute, half frozen in the sand. She’s the last person I would expect to see there, but also…I somehow knew she would be there. As if she’s never quite been gone.

I turn to leave, realizing that humiliating myself in front of Tom was enough, and I don’t need to add Becca and Gemma to that list.

“Billieeee!” Gemma’s voice rings through the air as I turn, and I freeze. Caught.

“Billie! Billie!” She keeps saying my name, and when I turn around, I plaster on a smile. For Gemma.

“Hey, little lady!” I open my arms, and within seconds she slams against me, no regard for her arm. I rock back with the impact of her sturdy, solid little body and then I crouch down.

She giggles, and nuzzles against me as she wraps her slender arms around my neck and hugs tight.

“Oh, Billie. I missed you. Where have you been?” She says this softly in my ear, her voice happy and relieved. I feel my chest tighten, my throat burn. I can’t answer right away.

“Are you mad at me? Because I ruined the party? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall.” Her voice is suddenly tiny, and as she pulls back slightly, she tilts her head down, her hand going to her cast. I feel my heart break, and the burn in my throats goes to my eyes.

“Oh, honey. No. I could never be mad at you. I’m so sorry you fell, that wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry I’ve been away.” I lean forward and brush her hair from her face. I can see Tom and Becca, in my peripheral. They’ve stood up off the blanket, but they haven’t moved. They’re just watching.

“I missed you.” Gemma strokes my hair with a sandy hand, and I smile at her.

“I missed you too, Gems. Is your arm okay?” I ask. She nods, and brightens.

“It’s doing much better. It itches sometimes.” She frowns. I laugh and nod, pulling my emotions back into check. Oh god, what have I done? What am I doing?

“Come on. Come see Daddy. And Becca.” Gemma takes my hand, and I take a deep breath. I stand and straighten, and let Gemma lead me the few yards to where they are standing.

I meet Tom’s eyes first. He’s watching me like a hawk, and when I get near, he gives me a small smile. I don’t look at Becca. I can’t. Not yet.

“Hi. She seems to being doing well.” I gesture towards Gemma, who has gone back to building a lumpy, misshapen sandcastle with one hand.

Tom brushes his hands against his shorts, and nods. He laughs softly, looking down.

“She’s basically fully recovered. A broken arm doesn’t stop her.” He glances at his daughter.

Becca shifts, and then steps forward a bit more. I finally look at her, seeing her for the first time since we were teenagers. She hasn’t changed much. She’s still gorgeous. Her dark, wild hair, and pretty, almost exotic face. She is wearing a simple sundress that shows off a slender, petite frame. She brushes her hair from her face, a gesture that seems to remind me of Gemma, and she smiles at me.

“Billie Darling. Or should I call you Baby?” She says, her voice kind. I swallow, try to find my voice.

“Billie is good. Hi, Becca. How are you?” I ask. She nods and I see her hand go to Tom’s back, just for a moment.

“I’m okay. It’s great to see you. I’m surprised though. You’re a big star now. The most famous thing about Lewes.” Becca laughs. I shake my head and cross my arms in front of my chest.

“I’m surprised to see you too.” I try to keep the venom, the hurt and anger from my voice. “I’m just here, visiting family.” I add on, keeping my voice light. Becca smiles and nods, and then we are quiet.

“We were about to get dinner. Billie, do you want to stay?” Tom asks. His voice is even, and it reveals nothing.

I can’t think of anything I want to do less. Have dinner with this little family. Sit across from the man I love, and his ex wife and their child. Becca still has her hand at Tom’s back, and I wonder if the “ex” part is going to stick. I feel a slight panic set in in my chest.

“Billie, you have to stay! Please!”Gemma perks up, and I glance at her. Her eyes are big, excited and pleading.

“Okay. Sure.” I say softly. Becca grins, and then turns to make her way back to the house. Tom nods and turns to Gemma, helping her gather up their beach things.

I wait for them, and then we walk back to his house, letting Gemma do the talking as we walk.

 

 ****

I feel out of place at Tom’s, though just mere days ago I practically lived there. I don’t know what to do with myself. Where to go to stay out of the way. Becca moves around the kitchen easily, cutting vegetables and handing Gemma pieces to snack on. Tom is nearly silent the whole time. He gives Gemma a quick bath and then busies himself out at the grill. He’s barely said a word to me.

“Have you enjoyed being back?” Becca asks, scooping the veggies into a bowl and drizzling olive oil onto them. I sit down at the kitchen table. The worn wood table that I can still see Tom sitting at, late at night. His glasses on, his hair messy as he goes over his syllabus for the new semester.

“I have. It’s been a nice break.” I say.

“I’m thirsty.” Gemma quips, poking her head into the kitchen. The snow man movie is on, and I know it nearly by heart now.

“Just a minute, Gemma.” Becca says absently. I stand up and go to the cabinet, grabbing a sippy cup from the shelf. Becca is watching me.

“I’ll get it for her.” I say simply. Becca nods, taking a sip of her wine, and going back to stirring a pot on the stove. I pour Gemma some juice, and hand it to her, where she greedily gulps it down, then walks slowly back into the family room.

“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here.” Becca says suddenly, as Gemma leaves. I swallow hard, and then give a quick shrug of my shoulders. Of course, I’m dying to know what she’s doing here. But I can guess.

“Maybe to see your daughter?” I say the words before I can stop myself. Becca blinks and looks a bit like she’s been slapped, but then she recovers.

“How long have you and Tom been sleeping together, Baby?” Becca levels a look at me, and I feel my jaw clench. I feel a bit sick to my stomach. But I’ve dealt with women like Becca before. The entertainment world is full of them. Beautiful but insecure. They don’t want what they have, but when they toss it aside, they don’t want anyone else to have it either.

“Not really any of your business, Becca.” I say back with a sweet smile. Becca raises an eyebrow at me.

“Listen. I know I’m a shitty mother.” She huffs and leans back against the counter. I’m surprised she’s willing to admit that, and give her some props for her honesty.

“Yes.” I agree slowly. She gives me another pointed look, but then keeps going.

“But, I want to be in Gemma’s life. She knows who I am. But she calls me Becca. She’s not ready for it. I get it.” Becca takes a gulp from her glass. Gemma is only five years old. Of course she’s not ready to deal with the fact that her mother basically abandoned her as a baby. I don’t know that anyone is ever ready to deal with something like that.

“I made some mistakes. I made a lot of mistakes. But I’m here now, and I want to be a part of it.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and takes a deep breath.

I take a minute, thinking over my answer.

“Gemma deserves a mother. A really great one, who sees how amazing she is. And protects that with everything.” I feel my chest tighten and I reign myself in. “If you’re here now, Becca, then make sure you’re really here. Don’t leave them again.” I swallow.

Becca straightens and her face is stony, cold.

“I know what I need to do.” She says swiftly. I nod, and then she huffs again and softens slightly.

“That’s the thing, Baby. I want to be here, but I’m not sure Tom’s having it.” She turns and refills her glass. Doesn’t offer me any. I feel my pulse pick up.

“You hurt him.” I say softly. I’m not sure why I’m having this conversation with her right now.

“You think I don’t know that? And I know you and him have or had something going on.” She says bluntly. I don’t say anything. “So, just so you know. I’m not really here for him. I mean, if he wanted me, I’d be open to it. But I can tell that’s not really the case. At least not yet.” Her jaw tenses and she looks annoyed. I don’t reply because I can’t.

“So, I’m here for Gemma. That’s all. I just want to see Gemma. Get to know my daughter again.” Becca sighs. “I’m not a threat, or whatever, to you and Tom.” She says this with a slight resignation to her voice. As if it’s not what she wants, but she knows she’s already lost. I don’t quite know how to feel.

“There is no me and Tom, Becca.” I manage. I force a small smile. “We’re just friends.” I nod. Becca gives me a startled look, and I can tell she’s not sure what to think.

Just then, Tom walks in, carrying a plate of grilled chicken.

“Vegetables ready for the grill?” He asks. The room is stiff, nearly stifled. Becca nods and hands him the bowl. He turns to go back to the grill, and I follow him outside without a word. I don’t really have anything else to say to Becca.

The sun is setting now, and Tom seems strangely relaxed. He has a beer, and his hair is still a bit wet from a shower. I follow him to the side of the house where the grill is, and I watch him put the veggies on. He’s quiet, and he’s not ignoring me, but we don’t speak.

There are two chairs nearby, but I don’t sit. I feel like I need to be standing.

“Thanks for stopping by. Gemma’s really missed you.” He says finally, breaking the silence. I shift and don’t reply. He stops fiddling with the grill and then looks at me, his blue eyes nearly electric in the amber glow of the sunset. Despite everything, I feel that pull toward him. The pull that’s been there since day one. Strong, simple, intoxicating.

“I missed her too.” I manage. He shifts and licks his lips, then takes a drink of his beer. The energy coming off him is strange. And I don’t know how to read him.

“Why is Becca here, Tom?” I ask, holding my breath as I do. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, shrugging his wide shoulders. He looks baffled, confused.

“Your guess is as good as mine. She just showed up two days ago. I didn’t…I don’t even know where she’s been or what she’s been doing. But she wants to be in Gemma’s life now. And…” His voice goes from light, confused, to angry and frustrated.

“I can’t believe she has the guts to come back. After what she did.” I say softly. Tom looks at me, his eyes hurt, his brow furrowed. He reaches for me, but then stops himself. I bite my lip, fighting two separate urges, both tugging desperately inside of me.

“I can’t let her hurt Gemma. I don’t know what to do.” His voice breaks but he doesn’t cry. I reach for him them, unable to stop myself. I cross the bridge that he can’t seem to step onto. Despite what he has or hasn’t said to me, I love him. Dearly. Deeply. And I can’t stop myself.

Tom is stiff at first when I hug him, I can feel the tenseness of his entire body. He is angry, and tight with his frustration. I stand on my tip toes and hold him, wrapping my arms around his neck and easing him down toward me. It takes a moment, but then he lets out a breath. One that he may have been holding for days, and he wraps his arms around my body. He hugs me tight, buries his face in my shoulder, and hugs me to him.

“You’re an amazing father, Tom. Gemma is so, so lucky. Don’t doubt yourself. Whatever happens, you’ll be able to take care of her. I know it.” I whisper. Tom tightens around me, and we sway for a moment. God, I love him. I love him so much, and it is breaking me.

“I’m sorry, Billie. I’m sorry about everything.” His voice is wracked. Destroyed. I feel a sob rise in me. We pull away from each other, slowly.

“I need some time. I just…I don’t know what I have to offer you right now. Everything is…fucked up.” He manages, looking down.

I’m hurt. I’m heartbroken. I’m angry that he doesn’t think I’m worth the fight.   The bumpy road.

“I understand.” I say. Because some small, rational, unfeeling part of myself does understand. And I’m tired of trying to convince people I’m more than a pretty face. That I’m worth truly getting to know.

“Don’t go back to Becca. Please. If there’s anything that comes of this, just don’t…go back to her.” I ask, nearly beg. A request that I have no right giving. Tom looks at me then, surprise and disbelief in his eyes. At what part of my request, I’m not sure.

“Things are so complicated right now.” He says softly. And then, for the first time, I wonder if it’s true. If he’s actually considering getting back together with her. I feel it like a door, slamming hard in my face. I feel the shifting weight of the world on my shoulders. Things are definitely complicated.

“I’ve been offered a job. In Vegas. A two year contract there for a show. It sounds really…fantastic.” I blurt out. I don’t know why. It’s like a wall has come down.

Tom looks taken aback, and his mouth opens slightly, his cheeks redden just a bit.

“Oh?”

“Yes, it seems like the best move for me.” I can hear my voice coming out of my mouth, but I have no control. He’s quiet for some time, nearly deadly in his silence. He shifts, turns and fiddles with the grill, shifting vegetables around and then nearly slams the metal spatula down.

“I get it then. You’re done playing house. Back to the real world.” His voice is hard and when I look at him, making eye contact for the first time in a few moments, I see his own wall come down. I feel confused, feeling the conversation spiraling quickly.

“I…I wasn’t playing.”

“It’s fine, Billie. We both knew it was coming. Was just a matter of time. I’m glad I could be of service. Good luck to you in Vegas.” His words sting, no, they cut. _I’m glad I could be of service._    I read between the lines and feel my stomach clench and for a second I worry I’ll be sick.

“Tom.” I say his name, using it like a weapon. He looks at me, his face hard, his jaw clenched.

“Four days ago, I told you I loved you. Did you forget that? And you…you’ve said absolutely nothing. What exactly, am I supposed to do with that?! Please, enlighten me. Why would I s-stay?!” My voice shakes with anger, with the pain.

“Billie, you were always going to leave. It was always going to happen. You remind me so much of her—of Becca. I’ve just been waiting for it. For the right offer, for the better opportunity. And you’d be gone. It was my fault though. I shouldn’t have ever…” He shakes his head.

“I’m…I’m glad you think so…so…” I’m crying so hard now that I can barely speak. “So highly of me.” I wipe my eyes and turn to leave. I don’t belong here anymore. If I ever did.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Billie! That’s not my life. Our Life. Billie, my life is talking cartoon snowmen and late bills and Saturday morning pancakes. My life is an ex wife who doesn’t care, and me just trying to keep my head down and out of trouble. Working nights and weekends so Gemma can have a roof over her head. Not paparazzi and sex tapes and shows in…in Vegas. You came here for a break from your real life, remember?! But this is my real life. This has always been my real life. And I’m not a back up plan either. I’m not an escape from the hardships of fame, or a pause on the road to more exciting things. Neither is Gemma. We’ll always be here, Billie. We aren’t going anywhere. You’re the one who isn’t done moving.” He’s practically yelling at me, his voice hard and angry. I’m trying hard to be strong, to stay angry, but I don’t have it in me.

He doesn’t know me at all.

He doesn’t understand me at all.

I turn, humiliated, embarrassed, and feeling my heart rip from my chest, and I walk away. And Tom lets me go.


	24. 23: stuck, a proprosition, a declaration

Tom pulled his trainers on, stretching his legs as he moved. It was barely six am, but sleep was elusive these days. It was best that he just got a start on his day. Otherwise, he’d just spend another hour tossing and turning in bed. Gemma was still asleep, as was Becca, and it would be some time before he’d have to truly prepare himself for the day.

The past week had been a whirlwind. First, Gemma breaking her arm. Then, Becca showing up. Out of nowhere. It had been like seeing a ghost. Or some fictional character from a book. Someone he’d read about, but never truly known. He wasn’t sure he’d ever see Becca again. He’d been content with that, too. It had taken his lawyer weeks to track her down, and then months to get her to sign over her parental rights. Having her show up, so easily, seemed almost impossible.

And yet, here she was. Out of nowhere. As easy as pie. Currently, she was sleeping on an air mattress on the family room floor. He knew it wasn’t the most gentlemanly thing for him to do—make his houseguest, and the mother of his child, sleep on the floor in the main room of the house. But, then again, his gentlemanly feelings toward Becca had dissipated years ago. She was lucky he hadn’t tossed her out on her ass.

Gemma had been confused, an rightfully so, when Becca had shown up. Gemma only knew Becca by photos. Pictures that Rosie still had around her home. Tom didn’t keep any at his house. Gems knew that Becca was her mother, but she was also, heartbreakingly, aware that she had left. Had left her, and Tom. Despite his attempts to protect her from that brutal truth, a five years olds curious mind often left no questions unasked. And he’d done his best to tell her the truth while cushioning the blow.

But it had been hard for Gemma to adjust. Confusing too. And it angered Tom that Becca thought it was okay to just drop in, with no warning. He’d spent the last few days, when he wasn’t working, paying extra attention to Gemma. He didn’t want her to think that things had changed. That she wasn’t his best girl still.

And he was worried that when Becca left, and she would leave, that Gemma would think he’d leave too. He couldn’t have that.

Tom stepped outside into the early morning. The air was damp still with lingering night—dewy and crisp. Fall was just around the corner, and summer a mere afterthought.

He began running as soon as his feet hit the sand. He made his way down to the packed, hard sand near the surf, and went for it. He hadn’t bothered waking up Sam. Tom knew he wasn’t very good company at the moment. He didn’t want to bring anyone else down.

Tom took a deep breath and forged forward, running hard and fast, making his muscles burn. He was moving at a burn out rate, but he didn’t care. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted it to match the pain in his chest that had been there for days, and the numb blur in his brain that had refused to leave for just as long.

He stared straight ahead as he ran, looking at everything but seeing nothing. He could feel his blood pumping, his muscles burning, his lungs aching. If he was alive—his body was definitely alive, then why did he feel so dead inside? Unattached. Gray. Amorphous.

Billie had said that she was in love with him.

She’d said it so simply, and with such hesitant joy. Hesitant on his reaction. And he’d completely imploded at the thought.

It was one thing to have her in his bed every night, as they’d been doing. She was like a dream to him. She made him feel alive again. She made the monotony seem desirable. Like he’d be okay toiling away his days, as long as when he came home, she was the one that greeted him. Her and Gemma.

And they’d become a pair. Or a threesome, perhaps. Tom clenched his jaw, and pushed harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had known from the start that Billie would leave them. And he’d lied to himself, and told himself that he wouldn’t get attached. And that it would be fine for Gemma to have Billie around for just the summer. Because he had been feeling lonely, desperately lonely. And he’d simply not been able to stay away from Billie.

She was like a drug.

He wanted to inhale her. Ingest her. Make her part of him. And never stop. Never come down from the high.

And it had been selfish. And foolish. And far too hopeful.

And just when he thought, maybe, that he’d make it out in one piece, Becca had shown up. And his whole world seemed to come crashing in around him.

Once again, he was Tom—the guy who got duped into falling for a woman who always had one foot out the door. Once again, he was making huge, life changing decisions, only to find himself alone and at a loss for what to do. He couldn’t do that to Gemma. And he couldn’t do it to himself again. Becca brought back all those feelings. Feeling inadequate. Feeling trapped, lost, drowning in a sea with no land in sight.

The words had been there. They’d been on the tip of his tongue.

But they’d gotten stuck. Lodged his in throat.

And he had let Billie go.

Back to the sea, or wherever she’d come from. That foreign place, that would surely swallow him alive, pull him underneath. Just like Becca had when they’d first met.

And he hated himself.

 

 ****

 

Tom got back to the house around seven, and took a shower. Gemma wouldn’t be up for at least another half hour, maybe longer if he was lucky.

The run hadn’t cleared his mind, but it was a bit less foggy. The shower had helped as well.

Tom ran a towel through his hair, and then wrapped it around his hips. He’d make Gemma breakfast, and then maybe they’d take a walk to Rachel and Sam’s.  

Stepping out of the bathroom, Tom made his way to his room to change. The house was still quiet, and he had a feeling he’d be waking Gemma up that morning. Closing his door softly behind him, he froze as he turned to grab clothes from his closet.

“Hi.” Becca was lying across his bed, wearing nothing but her bra and a red, lace thong.

Tom blinked and then his eyebrows raised in surprise and question.

“What are you doing?” He shifted his weight. And despite everything in him, it was difficult not to acknowledge Becca’s beauty. It was what had drawn him to her in the first place. She was slender, petite and curvy in all the right places. And she knew it. Knew how to work her assets. Her hip jutted forward, her breasts pushed to the top of her bra, her legs stacked gracefully one on top of the other. It had been quite a few years since he’d last touched Becca.

“I know you’re upset. About something going on with Baby.” Becca sat up, swinging her legs over the side of his bed. She leaned forward, her breasts pushing forward as she tilted her face toward him. Her eyes swept up and down his body, and Tom was suddenly very aware that he was still only wearing a towel.

“Don’t talk about Billie.” He swallowed, and crossed his arms over his chest. He turned, and grabbed the first tshirt he saw out of his closet, yanked it over his head. She was practically eye fucking him, and he needed some sort of barrier.

“Listen, Tom. I know you and I…aren’t on good terms either.” She stood up then, and walked over to where he stood. Tom froze, his teeth grinding. Having her so close and so…scantily clad, was making him feel slightly nauseated.

“But, we’re adults. I know you still find me attractive. I can…see…that.” Becca reached forward, and her hand went to the front of his towel. Tom reached down, fast, grabbed her hand roughly and pushed her away.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. Just release a little steam, you know? I know you could use it. And god knows, I could. It doesn’t mean we like each other.” Becca laughed at his rebuff, and moved away, sitting back down on the edge of his bed. She watched him then, with her dark eyes, never leaving his form. Tom shook his head slowly, and then let out a low, humorless chuckle.

“Becca. I want you to listen. Carefully.” He looked up at her. She revolted him. Everything about her. She was a woman with no heart. No soul. There was nothing there to redeem her. She wasn’t charming, or endearing, or caring. She had abandoned her baby girl, and didn’t truly have any interest in making it up to her now. She had lied to Tom from the moment he’d met her, and showed no remorse for the hell she put him through. That, in some ways, he was still going through.

He wasn’t sure how it happened that Billie was gone from his life, and Becca was what he had in her place.

Becca perked up, a smile playing on her red lips. Tom paused, and she must have taken it as an invitation, because she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. Becca let the straps slide down her shoulders and arms, and then let the flimsy lace fall to the floor.

She stood again, and then gave Tom a small, coy smile.

“I’m listening.” She grinned.

Tom blinked. It wasn’t Becca he saw in front of him. It was Billie. Billie wrapped in his sheets, her riot of blond hair messy from his hands. Billie, smiling and laughing on the beach with Gemma. Billie kissing him good morning, and waiting up for him to get home from work at night. Billie, making up silly games to keep Gemma safe and hidden from photographers she had no control over. Doing everything she could to take care of his daughter. To take care of him. He couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m going to drop Gemma off at Rosie’s.” He said slowly. Becca grinned wider, and began running her fingertips up and over her bare breasts. Tom scowled, his brow furrowed.

“Then, I’m going to go to Rachel and Sam’s to find Billie.” He said simply. Becca frowned, then her mouth slowly dropped open.

“What?!” Her voice was shrill, incredulous.

“And when I get back from finding Billie…you should be gone.” Tom laughed then, and reached up running a hand roughly through his hair. The laughter bubbled from him, and he surely sounded crazy but he didn’t care.

“And by gone, I mean out of my house. Out of our lives. You don’t have a place here anymore. You’ve hurt us enough.” He grinned at her, like an insane person, and then brushed by her, grabbing a pair of shorts to pull on under the towel, and on his way to Gemma’s room.

“Oh, and make sure you clean up your mess in the family room before you leave. That’d be great.” He winked at Becca, and then left.

Her angry shriek was audible through the house, but Tom didn’t care. He couldn’t stop smiling.

 

 ****

 

It didn’t take long to get Gemma ready for Rosie’s. It was often weekend protocol to head over there in pajamas. So after a quick teeth brushing, and hair combing, Tom had her out of the house and safely nextdoor.  Becca hadn’t bothered speaking to either of them, but had simply gotten dressed, grabbed her bag from the family room, and stormed out.

Tom left Gemma and Rosie, promising to help make breakfast when he got back, and jogged his way quickly over to Sam and Rachel’s. A thousand things ran through his head. A thousand things he wanted to say. He just hoped she would listen to him. That she wasn’t too mad to hear him out. Too hurt.

He could fix this. He knew he could. He didn’t know if it was the smart thing to do, or even the right thing to do, but he had to do it. Billie belonged in his life.

Tom banged on the sliding glass door, and waited. Then got impatient and leaned forward, peering inside with a cupped hand.

A moment later, Sam came to the door in shorts and an old tshirt.

“Hey man.” He blinked. Tom had obviously woken him up.

“Wow, sorry, it’s early, isn’t it?” Tom laughed, shaking his head. He put his hand on his hips and Sam frowned at him.

“Yah, it’s early. It’s also Sunday. So it’s super, duper early. Is everything okay?” Sam asked, pushing the sliding door open further, inviting Tom in. Tom followed him inside, feeling nearly jumpy with nervous energy.

“Everything’s fine. Yeah.” Tom nodded.

Rachel ambled into the family room, yawning, and tying a short robe around her middle. She gave Tom a sleepy, bleary smile.

“Tom?” She yawned again and began rummaging in the kitchen for coffee mugs.

“Morning, Rach.” Tom waved at her through the cutout that went from the kitchen into the family room. Sam was still standing a few feet away, frowning at Tom, watching him as he shifted, nearly bouncing from one foot to the other.

“What are you doing here?” Rachel asked nonchalantly, conversationally. Tom cleared his throat and clasped his hands together.

“I came to talk to Billie. I need to talk to Billie. Is she up yet?” He asked, moving his hands to his hips. He peered in the direction of her room, though it wasn’t visible from where he was standing. Sam frowned deeper and then leaned against the couch back. Rachel peeked out from the kitchen, her eyes wide, her mouth sloped down in a matching frown.

“Tom, Billie left. She’s gone.” Rachel said matter of factly, her voice gentle but surprised.

Tom froze, all the nervous energy draining fast from him like water down a wide drain. He swallowed and looked from Rachel to Sam and then back to Rachel. She walked out from the kitchen and into the family room, her arms crossed loosely over her middle, coffee forgotten.

“She’s gone? Where did she go?” He asked though he already knew the answer.

Rachel’s face seemed to melt slightly, and she took a deep breath.

“She went back to LA. On Friday. Yesterday she was meeting with Shorty and signing a contract for Vegas.” Rachel said this slowly, gently. As if breaking bad news.

Tom nodded then, letting the news sink in. He was too late. She was gone. As if she’d never even been here. Rachel stepped forward, reaching out to Tom. He let her put a hand on his arm, comforting him for things he didn’t completely understand.

“She was really upset, Tom.” Sam said, his voice neutral. Tom looked at Sam, and for the first time, saw disappointment. Sam tried to hide it, but he could read it there, in his friend’s eyes.

“She didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Gemma. She was incredibly upset about that. But, I thought it maybe for the best.” Rachel took a deep breath. Tom nodded, dumbly. Realized his mouth was open, and pressed his lips together.

“Do you think…I should call her?” Tom said to no one in particular.

Rachel was silent. Sam chewed his lip for a second and then took a step forward.

“Maybe give her a minute, Tom. She wouldn’t say what happened between you two, but…she was inconsolable. I think she needs a minute. She’s trying to move on—get back into her career and all that. She’s been lost for awhile, and I think she’s finally getting back on her feet. You gotta do what you gotta do, but…you did a number on her, man.” Sam shook his head, and then sighed. Rachel wouldn’t quite meet Tom’s eyes.

Tom ran a hand over his face, feeling suddenly tired and thousand years old. His chest felt heavy.

“What did you say to her? She was so very upset, Tom.” Rachel asked. He could tell she was hurting for her sister, and trying very hard not to lash out at him.

He was momentarily overwhelmed with appreciation for his friends, who were trying so hard to still be his friend despite that fact that he’d hurt someone they loved.

“It’s more what I didn’t say to her.” He said softly.


	25. 24: "friends", fools, the hit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I just wanted to say thank you to all of you here on Ao3. I don't often reply to comments and such, but I read them all and appreciate them so much. I post most of my work on Wattpad, so if you don't read on there, I hope you'll try it out. My user name is Circa1927 on there as well.
> 
> Thanks again for all your support!!

Shorty makes me go shopping as soon as I get back to Los Angeles. There are closets full of designers clothing at my house—stuff that was given to me mostly, but he thinks I need something new. Something to put a little “pep in my step.” Apparently my wardrobe, which has been mostly reduced to cut off shorts and tank tops, isn’t up to code with Hollywood style at the moment.

I pour myself into a short, skin tight dress that makes me look like I’m wrapped in shiny ace bandages and do my hair and makeup. I can’t remember the last time I straightened my hair, or bothered with more than mascara and lipgloss. Makeup isn’t all that practical on the beach. Tonight, I doll myself up, knowing there will be cameras everywhere. It’s like putting on a mask, and I, surprisingly, remember what it feels like to be Baby Darling.

Shorty asks that I meet him and a few friends at a local hot spot for dinner and so I begin my quiet re-entry into the LA scene at around 8 that night.

I feel like crawling into a hole and dying. I feel like disappearing into my bed for weeks. I feel like calling Tom just to hear his voice.

Instead of doing what I feel, I put on a brave face. I do what Shorty says. I make my way to the restaurant, I kiss the cheeks of “friends” I haven’t talked to in months, and I smile pretty the whole time.

“Oh god, Baby. Where have you been?! You missed the party last weekend. Rita’s boyfriend was caught making out with some skank in the bathroom, and Justin’s ex showed up drunk and wearing the ugliest dress.” Yvonne, make up artist and stylist to the stars, rolls her eyes at me as she scrolls through her iphone. Her sister Sharon, also a stylist and a wannabe actress, sits next to her, texting feverishly.

“Wow. Crazy.” I say softly.

“Baby, I promise I’ll get all my stuff out of your dining room tonight or tomorrow. Thanks for letting me use it while you were on vacation.” Shorty winks at me, and goes back to a phone call. I nod at him.

When I had returned home a few days ago, I’d found my dining room had been turned into a makeshift office for Shorty.   His apartment is being remodeled, and I’d agreed to let him stay there while I was away. I was just a bit surprised at how comfortable he’s made himself. I arrived home to stacks and piles of paperwork all over my table.   Contracts, offers, negotiations, all over the place. Two laptops set up. He’s been sleeping in one of my spare rooms, and his stuff is everywhere. It’s alright. I don’t need all the space, really. I’ve got empty rooms, and bedrooms I don’t even step foot in. Having Shorty around isn’t all that much of a hardship.

“I can’t believe you’re going to Vegas soon!” Sharon exclaims, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Her eyes flash bright as she waits for me to respond. To make any sort of exclamation that matches her own. I’m supposed to sign the contracts for Vegas in the morning, and the thought hangs over me like a cloud.

“Yeah, it’s a huge deal.” I push my salad around on my plate, and shift uncomfortably. The dress is digging into me, and I feel like it’s squeezing me slowly to death like some sort of snake.

“Are you dating anyone, Baby? I feel like it’s been forever since we talked. I could set you up with my ex, Sean. He’s super hot. A bit of a dick at times, but you’d get along, I think. And I know he thinks you’re gorgeous. He was just saying the other night how sexy your video is.” Yvonne laughs, and took a sip of her cocktail. Sharon makes an excited noise, and giggles with her manicured hands over her mouth. I blink slowly, and then shake my head.

“I’m not really on the market right now.” I feel my dress, squeezing tighter.

“Well, just let me know. You’re kind of a hot commodity right now. Everyone’s been wondering where you’ve been.” Yvonne wiggles her eyebrows at me and I nod.

“Just taking a break. Visiting family.” I smile, without much joy. Yvonne nods and then looks past my shoulder, and rolls her eyes. She nudges her sister, and points rudely.

“Speaking of family. Why are there children here? God.” Yvonne grumbles, and I turn to see where she’s looking. A couple with a daughter is sitting across from us. The little girl looks young, around six or seven. She’s got curly, dark hair, and is laughing happily at something on an iPad. She’s not making that much noise, but Yvonne wrinkles her nose and sends pointed looks at the family. Sharon follows suit.

I can’t help but think of Gemma. Think of her unruly dark hair. Her silly little laugh. How if she were here now, she’d probably throw a little tantrum about eating her dinner, and then give in once we mentioned dessert.

There is no “we”.

I turn back to Yvonne, who is now chastising the waitress over something meaningless, like the temperature of her salad.  Sharon is drinking wine like it’s free. Shorty is still on the phone, gesturing wildly about something, always negotiating one deal or another. He has other clients, though none as successful as I am.

I sit back in my chair, suddenly feeling my appetite dissipate.

I’m home. I’ve made my choice. Then, why do I feel so homesick?

 

 ****

 

Shorty insists on taking me home that night, saying that he can get a start on cleaning up the temporary office. I don’t mind that it’s there, and I’m exhausted, so I warn him that I’m just going to take a shower and go to bed. I want to bury myself in my sheets, and try to dream away the face that seems to be burned into my mind.

We leave the restaurant to a barrage of flashing cameras, and strangers shouting my name. Yvonne and Sharon eat it up. Shorty tries to shield me from the worst of it, and I keep my head dipped low, but halfway to the car, I stop and simply give them what they want. I pose, put my hand on my hip, but I don’t smile. What’s the point? I count to ten, feel something inside me crack and crumble, and then I rush after Shorty, and am hurried into his SUV.

Shorty is on the phone nearly the entire drive home, which leaves me to my thoughts. They run loose and wild in my mind, unfettered by rational thoughts, given free reign by the alcohol I’d had at dinner. I wonder what Tom is doing now. I wonder if he’s already put Gemma to bed, as it’s past her bedtime. I wonder if he’s stressed over his classes he’s teaching, or maybe he’s at The Bar.

I wonder if he’s slept with Becca. I wonder if he’s taken her back. I feel my heart squeeze. It’s like a living, breathing thing, and right now it’s suffocating. I picture her in his bed, him touching her the way he would touch me. The words he would whisper to me…does he say them to her now? How much I believed him. I’m torturing myself, but I can’t seem to stop. I was a fool.

We get to my house, and all the lights inside the big, empty building are on and blazing. It’s like a skeleton, grinning into the dark. Empty and cavernous on the inside. I think about how Tom’s entire house could fit snugly inside the first half of my first floor. I miss his cozy little rooms, the soothing view of the beach from the picture windows. The way the breeze comes through his bedroom window late at night…

Shorty follows me into the house, and immediately goes to the dining room to start gathering paperwork. He’s got a filing system, crates and folders which he starts packing everything up in. I stand watching him for a few minutes. I kick off my heels and lean against the door jam.

“Vegas is a good idea, right?” I ask softly. Shorty looks up, and takes a deep breath. He nods and unbuttons his shirt sleeves, rolling them up his forearms.

“Yes, Baby. Vegas is good. You’ll get to perform, but you get to stay in one place. Put down a few roots.” He smiles. “And you can’t bat an eyelash at the money they’re offering you. You’ll be set.” He rubs my arm warmly, and then goes back to his sorting.

“I’m already set.” I say numbly, my voice low and emotionless. He looks up and nods.

“That’s because you don’t spend your money.” He laughs.

“I buy what I need. I have millions in the bank though.” I swallow hard and slide down the wall, sitting on the carpet. Shady nods and shrugs.

“You can never have enough though, Baby. And you’re feeding a machine now. You’ve got assistants, stylists, managers…me. We need a paycheck too.” He says gently, but it hits a chord in me. I narrow my eyes but I don’t say anything.

“You’ve got an amazing life here. You’ve got people who adore you—worship your every move. Fans everywhere. Men, who would fall at your feet. People willing to do whatever they can to get close to you. That’s quite a position you’re in, Baby.” He looks at me then, his eyes serious and almost stern. I look away and chew on my lip.

“I was in love with Tom. I’m still in love with him. And yet I’m here.” I shake my head, confused. Shorty stops moving, and leans against the table, stacks of papers just behind him.

“This is where you belong, you know. You’ve worked so hard for this. Since I met you at sixteen. You’re the one, Baby, who wanted to get away from the foster homes, and the trashy neighborhoods. And you did it. What does he expect you to do? Leave all you’ve worked for? Forget that you’re Baby Darling? Honey, you’re the one and only.” Shorty chuckles softly, and turns back around, knocking papers off the table as he does. A cascade flutters to the ground, covering my feet and my outstretched legs.

I take a deep breath as Shorty groans, and begins picking them up, getting on all fours to get under the table.

“No…I don’t think that’s what he expected at all.” I whisper softly, unheard.

I reach down, picking up some of the papers that are covering my legs, organizing them back into a neat pile. Offers for magazines.  Endorsement deals.  Renegotiations with my record label, which I’ve been ignoring.

And then. A name catches my eye. Jordan Fischel. My ex. The one who released the sex tapes.

And Shorty’s name.  John “Shorty” Masters. Signed right next to each other.

My heart skips a beat, and I feel my empty stomach drop to my feet.

I scan the document, my pulse picking up. These papers had been buried deep in the mountains of paperwork on the table. Paperwork I’m sure Shorty never expected me to see or bother with. I keep reading, furiously scanning as I pick out words like “negotiations” and “partnership”.  I see “ownership” and “profits” and “collaboration.”

I keep reading until the words are spinning.

“What is this?” I ask, holding up the paper.  My hand shakes as I hold it high and begin to get to my feet. Shorty stands up, his hands full of papers and sets them on the table.

“Baby, don’t worry about all this crap. It’s just legal stuff.” He laughs as he gestures to the mess. He runs a hand through his short hair, and walks forward, reaching for the paper.  I take a step back, hold out my arm and shake my head.

“What the _hell_ is this, Shorty?” I hold the paper up and toward him, and he takes it gingerly from my hands.  Shorty scans the contract, and I see all I need to see in his face, his reaction.  The way the color drains.  The air in the room seems to change and become electric. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

“It’s not what it looks like, Baby.  Really.” He says softly, looking up.  I raise an eyebrow, shaking my head, disbelieving. 

“Did you…” I can barely make out the words.  It is too horrible to consider, but the proof seems to be right there. “Did you have something to do with the sex tapes? With the release? With finding them?” I ask, my throat suddenly dry.  The room spins slightly. 

Shorty doesn’t answer.  He just stares at me as if he’s been frozen in time.

“What the fuck, Shorty?! Answer me!” I yell, my voice even surprising me. He flinches as if I’ve hit him. I sound like a wild animal, panicked and caught in a trap.

Shorty opens his mouth, then pauses.  He takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching.

“Baby, I can explain. You weren’t bringing in the money like you used to.  Your albums weren’t doing as well.  The offers were few and far between.” He looks at me, his eyes clear and pleading.  “I’ve got bills, Baby.  And I knew that if we released those tapes, it would make you the biggest star in the world.  I was right, wasn’t I?” He asks with a sharp laugh.

I feel my stomach lurch. 

“How did you even know about them?” It’s not me talking anymore.  It’s just the shell of me. I hear the disgust in my voice.

“You were drunk one night a few years ago, and told me you’d sent them to Jordan.  I contacted him a year ago and we started getting things into negotiation. He was all too happy to make a profit.”

“ _You made a profit.”_ I grind out, my voice thick and angry. He and Jordan had negotiated a split of 50% of the profits. The distributer had gotten 10%. I had gotten 40%, not that I’d wanted it. My cut had been slowly creeping into 8 digit figures. I feel sick over how much they’ve made. Off of my private moments.

He licks his lips and holds up his hands in defeat, as if holding up a white flag.

“We all did, honey. That was the point.” He shifts and looks me dead in the eye. If I’d had any heart left to break, it would have been pulverized to dust at this point. If I were a violent person, I would have hit Shorty. I would have grabbed the closest blunt object and hit him til neither of us could move.

“Get out. Get out of my house.” I spit out. He looks surprised.

“Come on, Baby.” He starts, but I rush toward him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him hard. He moves, but not easily.

“You no longer exist in my life, do you understand, Shorty? You’re dead to me. You are a fucking leech!” I am crazed, yelling at him and pushing him hard to get him out. I can feel myself start crying, but it is the angry, desperate tears of a person on the brink of losing it.  Losing everything. 

“I did it for you, Baby. I know you might not see it that way—“

“You piece of shit!” I screech. I’ve lost my mind.  All the desperation, the sadness, the isolation…it all implodes inside of me.  “I fucking trusted you, Shorty! I’ve trusted you blindly, completely, since I was a teenager.  How _COULD YOU_?”

Things begin to blur.  It’s a shaky, sickening blur.  I start throwing things at him. Anything I can get my hands on.  I scream at him, curse him, push him as hard as I can so he’ll leave my house. My shell of a life.  

We get to the front door, and he’s done nothing but try to reason with me. Try to explain that he did it for me, for us. That he betrayed my trust, and humiliated me in front of the entire world, all for the sake of money. Something we both had more than enough of. Or so I’d thought.

“You will never work in this town again, Shorty. Do you know that?! I will tell the entire world how you’ve betrayed me. What you’ve…done…” I gasp, trying to catch my breath. He turns to me then, the rage and desperation clear on his face. He looks angry, infuriated even, and he lashes out.

The hit takes me by surprise, but I think it takes him by surprise too. He smacks me hard enough that I stumble backward, and my head jolts to the side like some sort of pantomime. He’s wearing a big, clunky, diamond encrusted ring on his hand, and I feel it connect with my cheekbone as he backhands me. I know I must be bleeding but I don’t dare touch it. I see stars for a minute before I can focus back on what just happened.

“Oh god…Baby…” He reaches for me, horror on his face at what he’d done. I stumble backward more, feeling the pain bursting through my cheek. Pain that is quickly overshadowed by fear. He looks remorseful, and shocked, but I don’t trust him. Not in the least bit.

“My name isn’t Baby. Not anymore. Now, get out. Get the fuck out of my house.” My voice is low and controlled, but I can feel my hands shaking at my sides. My whole body is shaking.

He looks at me, a scowl on his face, before he turns and mercifully leaves my house.

I collapse to the floor with a sob, my hands going to my face, my whole body shaking with fear I’d been desperately trying to hide. I take a few gasping breaths, trying to find any composure in a world that has been turned upside down and shaken violently.

 

 ****

 

I call the police after I manage to stop crying, and am sure I can form normal sentences. My night ends with multiple police interviews, and a thorough check up by my doctor, who came rushing to my house when I’d sent him a text. I had assured him that the EMT that were arriving would be more than capable of handling it, but he was worried about needing stitches and the damage leaving any kind of scar on my face. That was the last thing on my mind.

The police found Shorty at his apartment, and arrested him. I pressed charges immediately, though I didn’t feel great about doing it. Despite everything, it was hard to wrap my head around the fact that my business partner, and close friend, had betrayed me so completely. But then again, the inch long cut on my face, and the six stitches I would probably need, was more than enough fuel for me to go through with it. He deserved worse than that, but it was all I had at the moment.

When everyone leaves, I stumble around my empty house. The dining room is a whirlwind of papers. Shorty’s things are everywhere. There is nothing here that feels like it is mine, and I suddenly feel alone, on edge, out of place, and somewhat frightened. I long for a hug. For some sort of comfort, but I find none.

I grab my things, stuffing a change of clothes and some essentials into a bag, and I drive myself to a hotel. I can’t fathom the idea of spending a night in that house. And I worry that one of Shorty’s friends will find out what happened, and come looking for him, or worse, looking for me.

It’s nearly two am before I’m settled into the hotel room. It’s a nice hotel—one that is used to celebrities, and knows how to be discreet. The night manager barely bats an eye when I walk in, wearing dark glasses that can’t quite hide the slowly forming purple and yellow bruises on my cheek, and the tiny, perfectly made stitches lining my cheekbone.

When I finally settle into bed, I surround myself with pillows. I try to build a barrier, and force myself to relax. To feel like it is a warm, caring body next to me, and not just empty space.

I hold one to my chest, and I let myself cry.

If I thought I’d been low before, it is nothing compared to this.


	26. 25: news, missing, crash the party

Tom poured shots for a group of guys at the end of the bar, and white wine for two women sitting toward the middle of the u-shaped counter. He wiped his hands on a bar towel, and then wiped down the worn wood. All things he’d done hundreds of times, maybe even thousands. He tucked a pen behind his ear as he went to print out the check for the couple on the far end.

His life was slowly returning back to routine. The same things, day in and day out. “The grind” as some people liked to call it. And he was definitely in deep. The return of cooler weather meant weekday hours would be spent teaching, and the evenings with Gemma and Rosie. Some nights he’d spend at the Bar, and most weekends. If he was lucky, he’d get the odd Sunday or Saturday morning free. The sweetness of summer was over.

It felt like weeks since he’d talked to Billie. Months, even. Entire lifetimes. He laid in bed at night, and thought of her. He missed her voice the most, perhaps. The conversations they’d have, idling away the early morning hours. He of all people knew that physical attraction could fade, and the most important base of a relationship was—what you had to talk about at the end of the day. And he felt, with Billie, he had everything to talk about.

But it wasn’t as if he didn’t miss her physically being there as well. The smell of her skin. The feel of her hands. Thoughts of the way her body felt next to his. The sighs she made. The comfort of having someone to sleep next to—and not just anyone—this one woman in particular. She liked to sleep curled on her side, hand under her cheek, a pillow tucked under her shoulders, and wedged behind her back. Like a little fortress.

He didn’t like to think about all the things he’d done wrong. He knew it would drive him insane if he did. He knew he couldn’t change the past, couldn’t say words that hadn’t been ready at the time. And now, Billie was in Los Angeles, and getting ready for an opportunity of a lifetime. A show in Las Vegas. He wasn’t sure he had any right to contact her. To tell her things that she deserved to hear weeks ago. It felt selfish. It felt self serving. And he only wanted her to be happy. To finally find her way, her peace. He wasn’t sure that he was a part of that anymore.

More than once he’d thought he’d heard her voice. Like a song coming from the ocean, drifting on the breeze. On occasion, he found he wasn’t just going crazy. Gemma had taken to playing Billie’s music. Or, Baby Darling’s music. Apparently, Rosie had let her download some of Baby’s tracks to her iPad. Softer songs. Music that was better for surfing or spending time at the beach, than partying in a club. It drove Tom crazy, but he didn’t keep Gemma from listening.

He knew he wasn’t the only one that missed Billie.

Tom checked the clock over the bar, noting that he’d only been there for half an hour, and had a long night ahead of him. The season had slowed down, and now things were back to the regulars. The odd work cocktail hour, girlfriends out for drinks, single guys drinking alone. Same old, same old.

Tom lugged a rack of clean pint glasses from the back, and began putting them away, trying his best to stay busy.

“Your girlfriend is all over the news.” Chelsea walked up behind Tom, amusement in her voice. Tom looked up, frowning. His coworker nodded toward the flat screen hanging to the right of the bar. Tom raised an eyebrow at her, and then looked at the tv.

It was programmed to one of the entertainment channels. Usually good bar fare. The volume was down, but the captions were on.

And the face on the screen was unmistakable. Only, it wasn’t Billie.

It was Shorty.

Footage of Shorty, his head down, being lead, handcuffed from a house. Multiple cop cars, lights flashing, illuminating the otherwise dark night footage. Shorty was lit up by spotlights, and the sight of him being arrested made Tom’s blood turn cold. He froze, watched the television for a minute, trying to gather as much as he could from the spotty information.

“Late Tuesday night, Shorty Masters, also known as the manager, publicist and sometimes producer of singer Baby Darling, was arrested for allegedly attacking the 26 year old pop star. Shorty has not released any statement concerning the claims, and was released on bail on Wednesday.”

“Holy shit. That’s insane. What happened?” Chelsea exclaimed, her face frozen in a strange mixture of disbelief and amusement. Billie’s life—just momentary entertainment and distraction for complete strangers. Tom felt his whole body tense, and he tried his best not to lash out at Chelsea. There was nothing amusing about it. Nothing at all. He felt a panic wash through him, wondering if Billie was okay.

“I don’t know…” He faded off, eyes glued to the television.

“Are you still dating her? I wonder if they were having some sort of affair.” Chelsea mused, nudging Tom in the side. Tom glared at her, and shook his head.

“I’ve…I have to go. I’ve got to leave.” He said, suddenly feeling like he needed to move, needed to be doing something. Anything. He couldn’t stay in that bar, waiting. He couldn’t spend the rest of the night with Chelsea, placing bets on why Shorty was really arrested. Chelsea looked at him, surprised.

“Okay…”

“Cover for me? I owe you, big time.” Tom asked, his voice frantic, his actions even more so. Chelsea nodded, and then watched as her coworker practically ran from the building.

 ****

 

 

Tom was banging on Sam and Rachel’s door, while checking his phone at the same time. Billie hadn’t contacted him. No calls, no text messages, nothing. Not that he’d expect her to. They hadn’t exactly left each other on good terms. He felt a heaviness in his chest, a panic that wasn’t likely to go away until he knew she was okay.

The entire way over to Sam and Rachel’s he could only think one thing.

Billie. Billie. Billie. She had to be okay. And if she wasn’t, if Shorty had hurt her…

It was early afternoon, his shift at the Bar had barely started when he’d left, but Tom didn’t care. He banged on the sliding glass door again, and then began calling both Sam and Rachel’s phones, cursing softly when they didn’t pick up. He was in a panic. In a state that he’d never felt before. Not knowing. Not knowing if she was okay. Not knowing what had happened between her and that bastard, Shorty.

Rachel came to the door first, looking bleary eyed and a bit frightened. She must have been working, as she was wearing her apron, smattered with dried clay, her hair haphazardly piled on her head. That same white blond hair that Billie had, that instantly made him, for a split second, believe he was seeing her. He shook his head and waited. Sam was right behind Rachel, pulling a shirt on, looking freshly showered.

“Tom? Is everything okay?” She said, her voice alarmed, as she opened the door. Tom ran two hands over his face and through his hair.

“What happened to Billie? Hell, Rach. Tell me she’s okay. Please.” He felt like falling to his knees in front of them, begging for answers. His panic, his worry, was palpable. Sam gently stepped forward, moving Rachel to the side.

“It’s okay, man. Billie is alright. Take a deep breath, yeah?” Sam said softly, and reached forward, taking Tom by the shoulders.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know something had happened.” He murmured softly. Tom scrubbed his hands over his jaw, furiously at first, and then forced himself to slow down. To breathe, and take note of how fast his heart was slamming into his ribs, and how nearly hysterical he was acting.

“Come in. Okay? I’ll make tea.” Rachel motioned both men inside. Tom swallowed hard, forcing himself to act more rationally, and then followed his best friends into their home. Surely she was okay. Surely they wouldn’t be talking so calmly, and making tea, if Billie wasn’t okay.

A short time later, with steaming mugs in their hands, Tom sat in the large, overstuffed chair across from Rachel and Sam. Rachel had taken off her apron and gotten more comfortable. Sam had stationed himself next to his wife, looking relaxed but somehow still worried. Tom leaned forward, onto his knees, and waited.

Rachel was the first one who spoke.

“First. I want you to tell me what happened between you two.” She said, her voice gentle but stern. Tom looked up, surprised. She held his gaze, letting him know she meant business.

“Why? Isn’t that between me and Billie?” He replied, raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t trying to be derisive, but he wasn’t quite ready to rehash what had happened. And if Billie hadn’t told Rachel, then he wondered if he should. Then again, he could say the same about Billie’s current situation now.

“Because, if I’m going to tell you personal things about my sister, then I need to know why she left here, running at full speed. I need to know if you deserve to be a part of her life.” Rachel tilted her head back, chin up, ever so slightly. Tom could tell it wasn’t an easy thing for her to say. He was close to Rachel, as close as he was to Sam. But Billie was her sister, and they had been two peas in a pod for their entire lives, no matter the distance between them. Rachel was protecting her. Tom looked away for a moment, and then took a gulp from his tea. Sweet, milky, earthy. He let it ground him before he started.

“Don’t hate me, Rach.” He said softly, before beginning. Rachel didn’t respond, but simply waited.

“Right before Gemma broke her arm—literally seconds before it happened, Billie told me she loved me.” He looked back at Rachel, surprise written all over her face. Sam stayed quiet, and sat back with his arms folded over his chest.

“She told you she loved you?” Rachel’s voice was heartbroken, and a bit flabbergasted. Tom nodded. “I figured she did but…she didn’t tell me that.” She whispered in return. There was a silence in the room for a moment, both parties considering this. Then Tom continued.

“I didn’t know how to handle it. It had all…happened so quickly. My feelings for Billie. I just lost it. Between the paparazzi thing at the ice cream shop with Gemma. And Becca showing up. I was having a hard time wrapping my head around Billie’s life—her fame, the fact that she had no plans to stay here. Then with Becca around it was like…this virus. I couldn’t see or feel anything, without feeling like I did six years ago, when I found out I married a woman who was a pathological liar. And I’d found myself in a strange place, tied to people I barely knew. So Billie telling me she loved me…I was scared to death of what it meant. Of how I felt.” Tom scrubbed a hand over his face, covering his mouth momentarily with one hand.

“I love Billie, Rachel. Believe me when I say that.” He looked up then, into the face that was so similar to the woman he loved. “I love her so much it hurts to be here. To wake up, and go to work, and spend time with my daughter, and not have her there with me. But I was so sure, in those moments, that she would leave us too. That she was putting on a façade as well. And I let her go. I just let her…walk away.” He shook his head.

“You haven’t told her?” Rachel’s voice was soft, and it broke slightly as she talked.

“No. How could I? How can I? After how much I’ve hurt her? Humiliated her? It was the last thing in the world she deserved.” He leaned his elbows on his legs, and then pressed his face to his hands.

Rachel and Sam were both quiet for some time. Tom felt the space between them, and wondered if the damage could be repaired.

“Tom, love takes more than emotions. More than just two people, you know?” Rachel finally spoke, gently. She had her hand on Sam’s as she spoke, carefully. “You’ve got to both be in the same place. The same place at the same time. And it doesn’t matter if you’ve been at points A,B and C, and she’s been at C, B, and A. All that matters is, at one point, you meet in the same place. All the rest is just…noise.”

Tom looked up, felt tears burn at the corners of his eyes.

“I want to meet her. I want to meet her in the same place. Help me, Rach.” He pleaded softly.

Rachel took a deep breath. She pulled her phone out of her pocket.

“On Tuesday night, Billie found out that Shorty was the one behind the release of the sex tape.” Rachel spoke quickly, almost robotically. As if it hurt her, just as much as it hurt Billie, to find out this information. To repeat it.

Tom sat up, his jaw dropping slightly, his heart stopping. He felt rage, boil deep in his gut, and then begin burning it’s way through his body.

“Just listen.” Rachel warned, holding up a hand.

“I’m listening.” Tom said, his voice clipped and carefully guarded.

“They fought about it. Billie was, understandably, furious and she fired Shorty. Told him she’d make sure he never worked again, kicked him out of her house.” Rachel said, with a slightly lighter tone. Tom smiled to himself, nodding.

“There’s my girl.” He said under his breath, holding back a chuckle.

“Shorty hit her.” Rachel breathed, her voice shaking. Tom looked up, the smile disappearing from his face. Sam shifted on the sofa, looking upset as well.

“Rach…” Tom sat forward.

“She’s fine. But he got her pretty good across the face, and she had to get stitches. He left right after that, and my beautiful, intelligent, kick ass sister immediately called the cops on him.” Rachel looked away, smiling through tears. Tom felt his hands clench at his sides, felt his gut turn. Anger at Shorty. Anger at himself for not being there.

“How is she?” Tom breathed. Rachel pressed her lips together, and then turned her phone on. She scrolled around for a second, before passing the phone to Tom.

“She sent me this.” She placed the phone in his outstretched hand, and Tom saw her hand shake slightly. It was a photo of Billie, close up of her face. The photo looked like someone had taken it for Billie, as her eyes were closed, and it was side profile. The flash was on, giving a stark, “police evidence” feel to it.

His stomach clenched as he saw the bruising on her cheekbone. Angry purple, red and yellow around the edges. She had a tiny line of stitches, coursing through the bruised area. The doctor had obviously done a meticulous job sewing up the cut, but it was still an ugly mark.

“Goddamnit...” Tom turned the phone off, angrily.

“Tom, listen.” Sam sat up. “We’re all just as pissed off, and fucking…devastated. But what Billie needs right now is…a friend. Not someone trying to run in on a white horse.” Sam said diplomatically, trying to keep Tom from flying off the handle. Tom nodded, but he felt as if he was going to jump out of his skin.

“I’m worried about her, Tom.” Rachel piped up, her brow furrowed suddenly. “She texted me the night it happened. Sent that picture. Then she texted me the next morning, and she sounded okay. But I haven’t heard from her since. It’s been 48 hours and she won’t answer my calls or my texts. It’s not like her. At all. Even back when they released the sex tape, she stayed in contact with me. I just…I don’t…” Rachel let out a tiny sob, and then pressed a slender hand to her mouth. Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Tom’s mind went spinning.

“So what do we do? Are you going to LA?” Tom stood up then, unable to keep sitting. He needed to move. Rachel brushed tears away and looks helplessly at Sam.

“I have that University conference in Orlando. I leave tomorrow morning until Tuesday.” Sam said, sounding frustrated. He squeezed Rachel to him, and then pressed a kiss to her temple.

Rachel looked at Tom, her eyes tear filled, and gave him a watery smile.

“And I can’t…fly. I can’t fly right now.” She said, letting out a sharp little laugh. A laugh of joy mixed with utter sadness, and aggravation.

“You can’t fly?” Tom drifted off, when realization hit him.

“Oh god, Rachel.” He walked forward, hands out, as both Rachel and Sam stood up. She nodded, crying a bit more now.

“You’re pregnant?!” Tom nearly shouted, and then Rachel full on started sobbing. It was like a dam let loose. A mixture of simple joy, relief, exuberance, mixed with heartbreak, devastation and being utterly terrified for her sister’s wellbeing.

“Oh, darling.” Tom pulled Rachel into his arms, hugging her to him. “Guys, that is so fantastic.” He grinned at Sam, who also had tears in his eyes. Rachel managed to pull herself together, gripping Tom tightly in a hug, then letting go. Tom hugged Sam next, and for a moment, they celebrated this miracle.

“It’s really early. Really, really early. We weren’t even entirely sure, but then we got the test results from the doctor…” Sam said, keeping an eye on Rachel, who was dabbing at her eyes. “The doctor doesn’t want her flying. Just a lot of resting, since she’s high risk. And we’re not telling anyone. Not yet. Not til…” Sam trailed off, giving Rachel a look. She smiled up at him, weakly, but full of love.

“We just want to be careful.” She said simply. Tom nodded, understanding.

“Congratulations, guys.” He beamed, and then the weight of everything fell back over the three of them. Rachel clung to Sam’s side. The air was heavy, laden with emotions spoken and unspoken.

“There’s…no one else I trust, Tom. I know you’ve got a million things going on—“ Rachel started, her voice soft and pleading.

“I’ll go, Rach. You don’t even have to ask. I’m there. I’ll leave as soon as I can.” Tom said somberly. It wasn’t even a question in his mind. He needed to go. He had to go. Rachel sagged with relief, and then began crying again, relieved.

“We’ll watch after Gemma. And I’m sure Rosie won’t mind.” Sam said, rubbing Rachel’s arm briskly. Sam looked grateful, and thankful that they had a plan in motion.

“Thank you. Thank you, Tom.” Rachel hugged him again, pulling him against her. Tom hugged her tight.

“I’ll make sure she’s okay, Rach. Don’t worry.” He whispered.

 ****

 

 

Getting to LA was easy. Almost too simple. Tom barely made it on a flight that left in the early evening, made it to LAX in six hours, and was in his rental car by 11pm. The time seemed to crawl, but he made it through in a blur. His thoughts were on Billie. A million possibilities ran through his mind of what he’d find, but only one possibility truly made sense. She had to be okay. There was a reasonable explanation for everything. If anything had happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.

Adrenaline got him to her house in one piece. He wasn’t in a small town anymore, that was for sure. Using his phone for directions, and maneuvering through Las Angeles traffic hadn’t been a fun or easy thing. But he was untouchable. He had one job, and he had to get there. Soon. The urgency was all his own, but he couldn’t ignore it.

Tom got through her gated community, using the code that Rachel had given him for the front gate. It was the code she remembered from the last time she’d visited. She’d apologized as she’d written it down, saying she wasn’t sure if it would work. But when Tom had punched in the six digit number, the large metal gate had swung open. And he’d felt relief wash through him, if only a tiny bit.

He’d been calling Billie too. Ever since he’d left for the airport. On the off chance she’d pick up for him. He didn’t know why she would, but he had to try. And every time, it had gone to voicemail. It felt ominous, and it made him feel panicked.

Rachel hadn’t been able to give him a key to Billie’s house. She didn’t have one. So he hoped he’d roll up there, and Billie would just be miraculously okay. She’d answer the door, wearing one of those sundresses she loved, she’d smile and they’d have a good laugh over her broken phone. He’d be able to call Rachel and they’d all have a good story to tell someday…

Tom grumbled to himself as he rounded the bend on her street. Her house sat back from the road, down a long drive way that turned into a large U shape outside of her home. There were two SUVs parked to the side, but no other cars.

He drove slowly, at a snail’s pace, though he was anxious to get there. Part of him was scared.. Scared to his bones that she wasn’t okay. That there was a very real, very frightening reason why she hadn’t spoken to her sister in two days.

His stomach dropped as he slowed to the end of her driving, and took in the sight of her home.

It was a large, sort of nondescript modern looking house with two stories. There were huge columns in the front, making it look grand and expensive. It was a beautiful house—the sort you’d see in movies and in magazines, and Tom guessed it was exactly the sort of thing a pop star would live in. it didn’t exactly say “Billie” to him, but then again, he wasn’t exactly sure what would. His house, perhaps?

Every hair on the back of his neck stood though, as he parked and opened his car door.

It was completely silent there, and in the semi-darkness of the LA night, every light seemed to be on in Billie’s house. It glowed, supernaturally bright, making the outside seem like an artificial sort of day. Tom hesitated, looking up into the windows, trying to see if he could see anyone inside. He could see nearly straight through, and into the house, from some of the windows, and he didn’t see anyone. Empty. But lights on like a welcoming beacon. Something about it felt off to him, and he slowly climbed out of the car.

Tom swallowed hard, tucked his keys into his pocket, left his bag in the car and walked up the short pathway to the front door. Still silent. It was almost eerie.

He reached up, about to press the doorbell, when something hit him, like a tsunami wave. Too fast for him to run, nowhere to go.

The front door was slightly ajar. He could see the crack of light glowing through, and it made his heart slam against his chest. _Billie._

Tom didn’t hesitate. He pushed open the door, took a hesitant step inside, and then panic took over.

The house wasn’t trashed, but there was something off about it.

The lights were all on—it seemed every single one of them, but there was complete silence when he walked in. He scanned the first rooms, noting a formal looking sitting area, and a large staircase that overlooked the foyer. In the sitting area, some of the pillows from the couch were thrown on the floor, but everything else looked like it was in it’s place. He frowned, and made his way down the hall, past the stairs.

He came to the kitchen, which was much more messy. Bottles covered every surface. There were empty pizza boxes stacked on the counter, and old food covered dishes in the sink. He kept moving, glancing into the dining room. He paused, taking in the scene. There were papers everywhere. Stacks on the table, and then more littering the floor like leaves fallen in autumn. It was as if someone had taken the papers and thrown them like confetti. He shook his head, frowning, feeling numb with worry and confusion. It was almost as if the place had been deserted. As if whoever had been here had just left, mid sentence, mid thought, without warning.

Tom wondered where she could be. Maybe she wasn’t home. Maybe she was upstairs. Sleeping? But the possibility seemed less likely, the more he moved through the house. There was no way Billie would let her house go to this state. No way.

Past the kitchen and the dining room, there was a large, sunken in room. It would have been rather cozy if the whole house didn’t reek of something wrong. A big fireplace took up one far wall, and seamless sliding glass doors took up another. A huge, flatscreen television was on in the corner, but it was playing on mute.

He frowned, looking around, noticing again, some empty bottles and trash. Two big leather couches took up most of the space, though they were empty. No one was here.

Tom turned then to leave, and make his way upstairs, when something caught his eye.

The reflection in one of the glass doors. A body, lying curled on the floor. On her side, one hand under her cheek.

Tom catapulted across the room, falling to his hands and knees in front of her. Billie was lying behind the couch, in the walkway between the sitting area and the glass doorways. There was a trashcan lying on it’s side next to her, and she’d obviously tried but failed to get sick into it.

Tom swallowed hard, his hands hovering over body for a second, afraid to touch her. He was practically vibrating, humming with panic. Afraid he’d touch her and find her cold, and lifeless.

But then, he saw the subtle, if not labored movement of her chest. The shallow breathing of an uneasy sleep.

“Billie.” His voice came out like a croak. Thick from worry and disuse.

“Billie.” He said again, more forceful, as he took her by the shoulders. Billie lolled back, her head flopping to the side. He shook her again, noticing she was a complete mess. She’d been wearing what appeared to be a short, sequin covered dress. Far too fancy for lounging around at home. It was now torn at the hem, and covered in what was most likely her own vomit. Her hair was a whirlwind around her face, her eyes smudged with dark makeup. Tom clenched his teeth together, feeling anger and sadness wash over him.

He should have been here sooner. She shouldn’t have been here at all.

“Billie. Love, wake up.” He shook her again, and then took her face in his hands. He smoothed her hair back, and felt her stir against him. It was a relief to feel her move, but only a brief one.

“Hmm.” She groaned, and then coughed softly, her whole body convulsing.

“Billie, come on, darling. You’ve got to get up.” He gently began lifting her at her shoulders, trying to get her to sit up.

“No. NO.” She shook her head, her eyes still closed. She smelled like vodka, and sick. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time she threw up on him.

“Come on,Billie.” He ground out, trying to lift her. She was heavier than he remembered, giving him no help to move.

“What? No, no, no.” She shook her head, barely conscious. “My friends will be back soon. It’sa party.” Her words were slurred, almost incomprehensible.

“Who? Your friends?” Tom asked, slipping his arm under her shoulders. Billie rolled toward him then, pressed her face into his arm and chest. What kind of friends left someone throwing up, and passed out on the ground? What kind of friends trashed someone’s house and then disappeared?

“The twins. Getting more beer.” She grumbled, and then out of nowhere, suddenly started crying. It was a soft, heart wrenching sob, and she didn’t try to hide it at all. She curled to her side, her hands pressed to her face.

“I’m so tired.” She moaned, hiccupping softly. Tom held her against him, knowing she didn’t even know it was him. Knowing she was drunk out of her mind, and had no idea what was going on.

“Billie, shhh.” He picked her up then, slipping his other arm under her legs, gripping her tightly by the shoulders. Now, she seemed to weigh nothing. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tears staining her cheeks.

Billie opened her eyes then, slowly, and looked up at him.

Tom started walking, back through the kitchen and toward the stairs in the foyer. He wanted to get her cleaned up. Get her to her bed, where she could sleep properly.

“Oh, hello.” Billie said softly, her voice dreamy now and far away. Tom glanced down at her but didn’t respond. Her blue eyes were open, but she wasn’t focused completely on him. They were bloodshot, and hazy, as if she saw him but was looking right through him.

“Never thought I’d see you here.” She said with a soft, breathless laugh before closing her eyes again, and passing back out.


	27. 26: the mess, the dream, the defeat.

Billie was awake enough to stay upright, sitting on the chaise lounge at the far end of her bathroom. Her eyes were open just slightly, and she was leaning completely against the back of the chair, her head lolled to the side. Her body was relaxed, as if she were asleep. Tom knew she just didn’t have enough energy to keep herself upright.

Tom rummaged loudly around in the bathroom, knocking things over and grumbling as he tried to clean up a bit. There were beer bottles all over the bathroom counter, clothes strewn all over the floor. The mirror was smudged with something unintelligible, and he didn’t want to even begin to guess what it was.

He didn’t want to think about who had been here with her. Trashing her home, and leaving her for near dead—curled up on the floor, unattended for who knew how long. He briefly wondered if she’d had more than just alcohol. He hated to think the worst, but he wasn’t really sure what to think anymore.

Tom pulled the trash can out from under the sink, and did a long sweep with his arm, pushing multiple cans and bottles right into the bin. They rattled and crashed loudly, and he swore softly as he watched beer spill onto the counter and down his leg. He felt like he was losing it. Being here, seeing her like this. He couldn’t help her amongst all the trash, the debris, the obvious evidence that the last few days of Billie’s life had been completely out of control. He felt an impulsive need to tidy up, before he could take care of her.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened if he’d arrived later. Or if he’d just come a bit sooner.

Tom swept a pair of pants, clumped with what was definitely a man’s shirt and jeans, to the side of the bathroom, glancing up at Billie as he did. She was watching him, but he wasn’t sure how much she was registering.

“What happened, Billie?” He said under his breath, trying hard not to let anger and frustration get to him, but his voice was hard. He turned, reached into the shower and turned on the faucets. Water sprayed from the rainfall head, and he was at least glad to see that the shower looked clean. Billie’s throat moved, and she blinked, but didn’t say anything.

The short, sequin shift dress she was wearing was bunched at her thighs, stained down the front from most likely her own sick. She had her hands bunched in the fabric, and Tom knew she was awake because her fists were tightened in the material. As if she was afraid of letting go. Her white blond hair was in knots around her face, the normal curls matted together. He absently wondered when the last time she’d slept or eaten had been.

He hesitated in front of her.

Knelt down onto his knees, and then slowly, quietly, let himself feel his own heart break. Crack right down the middle.

For the woman who he had let walk away…and when she had needed him the most.

Tom felt all anger, all frustration over the stressful and nightmarish trip to find her, drain quickly from his body.

He lifted his hands, let them come up to her knees. She didn’t respond, but Tom looked at her face then, and watched Billie close her eyes. Saw tears slip from the corners of her dust blue eyes, and slide down her pale, colorless cheeks.

He wanted to hold her, but was afraid to.

Billie took a shuddering breath, and then was still, as if she’d forced it all down, deep inside her.

Tom leaned forward, and slid his hands over hers. She was tense, her knuckles white, clutching the silky fabric. He ran his hands over hers, his thumbs over her knuckles, fighting the urge to envelope her in his arms. He had a feeling it would upset her more than anything.

“It’s okay, Billie. It’s going to be okay.” He whispered softly, not knowing what else to say but knowing he had to say something. Billie swallowed then, and he felt her relax slightly under his hands. Her fists trembled, and then she swallowed hard.

“I’m going to be sick.” She croaked softly. “I’m sorry.” She managed, sliding off the chaise and crawling her way toward the toilet. Tom tensed, watching her as she nearly dragged herself across the bathroom floor. He shut his eyes for a second, bracing himself as he heard her start to throw up.

A moment later, he was next to her, pulling her hair from her face, a strong hand at her wretching back. She obviously hadn’t eaten anything in awhile. There was nothing in her but alcohol, and even then, there wasn’t much at this point. Billie sobbed softly, trying to catch her breath as she leaned an arm on the toilet seat, her forehead against her arm.

Tom waited. Waited for her sobs to stop, waited for her breathing to return to normal. His stomach clenched, hearing her.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He stood, picking Billie up under the arms. She was more alert now, the vomiting had woken her up somewhat. She was able to carry her own weight, but her eyes were half closed, dazed and she was trembling.

Tom clenched his jaw, and reached to the nape of her neck, tugging the long zipper down at her back. The dress slid easily from her slender frame, falling to the ground in a soft whoosh of fabric. He looked away, realizing she wasn’t wearing a bra, and had only a tiny slip of a lace thong on under her dress. Of course, he’d seen her naked before, but not like this. There was nothing sexual or remotely sensual about this.

Billie leaned against him, her hand coming up to clutch his shirt, as he walked her toward the shower.

“Can you stand in the shower?” He asked, opening the glass door. Billie nodded, but didn’t speak.

He stuck his hand in the water, making sure it was a good temperature. Billie leaned against the wide glass wall of the shower, her eyes closed, and Tom wondered briefly if she was still awake.

He kicked off his shoes, tugged his shirt over his head and shed his jeans, leaving his boxers on, as he scooped her up and walked into the hot spray.

Billie gasped awake suddenly as the water hit them both. Tom grimaced as she flailed slightly, and he tightened his grip on her for a second, before setting her down carefully.

Billie’s blue eyes shot open, disoriented and full of panic, as the water poured over her shoulders and the back of her head. Tom watched as water ran down over her slender shoulders—thinner than he remembered, and over her breasts. He could see her ribs, and her clavicle stood out at a sharp contrast against her skin. Despite the heat of the shower, goosebumps dotted her skin.

“It’s alright. It’s just me. And the shower.” Tom put his hands up, and Billie grabbed his arms, steadying herself. Her chest heaved as she took deep breaths, her eyes searching his face. Recognition but distrust filtered over her features.

“How…oh, Tom.” She blinked, her voice soft, brimming with emotion. Tom pulled her against him, their bodies hot, wet, and comforting as they came skin to skin. Billie pressed her face into his chest, her hands gripping hard into his sides. He wondered if she was holding onto him so hard simply because she would fall if she didn’t.

Tom wrapped his arms around her, pushing his hands fiercely through her hair, kissing the top of her head as Billie shook in his arms.

“Tom. Tom. Please, don’t leave me. Please, don’t go.” She had a vice like grip on him, shocking strength for how small she felt against him.

“I’m not going anywhere. Shh.” He whispered.

Tom did the best he could to get her cleaned up. She seemed more lucid than she had all night, but she was still not completely there. She faded in and out, closing her eyes at times, relaxing and then tensing completely at others. Still, she was clean, and not covered in vomit anymore, so Tom took that as a plus.

He dried her off, wrapped her in a towel, and carried her back into her bedroom. He was dripping all over the place, but he didn’t care. Billie curled against him, seemed to be content to stay in his arms. Tom hesitated at her bed, noticing the rather unkempt look of it. The comforter was in a ball on the floor, the sheets in a tangle at the foot of the mattress. He desperately wanted to change the sheets. Couldn’t fathom putting her in that bed.

Back at home, Billie had made his bed every morning, even when he’d told her she didn’t need to do that.   He took a deep breath, and set her down in the armchair in the corner. She curled against the back of it, as if it were him, as if she had no idea where she was or what was going on. Satisfied that she would be okay there for a bit, Tom went back into the bathroom.

He stripped out of his wet boxers, and pulled his jeans back on, and then his tshirt.

He did a bit of noseying about in the house, down the second floor hallway, opening doors until he found the linen closet.  He yanked out sheets and blankets, and then returned to her bedroom. Billie was where he had left her, curled in the chair, the towel wrapped tight around her. Her slender legs tucked under her like a little kid.

Tom changed her sheets, and made her bed. Actions he’d done hundreds of times before, but somehow this felt different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He balled the old sheets and comforter up, throwing them in the corner so he could wash them later, and smoothed the clean blankets on over the sheets.

A few minutes later, Billie was tucked in her bed. She looked impossibly small on the huge king mattress. She didn’t stir after she moved to her side, her knees tucked near her stomach, her hands pressed up by her face. Tom hesitantly laid down next to her, letting himself breath, and his muscles relax for the first time in hours. He glanced at Billie, watched her slow, steady breathing.

He would stay here, next to her, until she woke up. Until she was Billie again.

Before nodding off, Tom pulled his phone from his pocket and texted Sam and Rachel.

 _Billie is alright. I’m with her now. It’s been a long day._ He sent the message and waited.

 _Oh god, Tom. Thank you. She’s really okay?_ Rachel’s response was almost instantaneous.

 _She’s okay. Everything is fine._ It was a lie, but he couldn’t tell Rachel the truth. Not now.

_Thank you, Tom. I owe you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Get some rest._

Tom swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and fell into a deep, listless sleep.

 

 ****

 

It was early morning when Tom woke up. Still dark outside, but the edges of light were slowly turning the black night into a gray blue morning. He had slept in a strange position, one arm bent over his head, and he ached as he moved slowly, trying to bring feeling back into his fingers. He’d slept in his clothes, lying on top of the covers. He had a duffel bag out in the car with extra clothes, but he’d been far too exhausted last night to do anything but fall asleep next to Billie.

He stretched slowly, the muscles in his long legs bunching as he flexed his feet. His shoulder ached from being bent all night and he winced as he moved. He turned then, and was met by a pair of clear blue gray eyes. She watched him intently, not missing anything. He wondered how long she had been awake.

“I thought maybe you were a dream.” Billie’s voice was soft, tender, as if she had just discovered she had one, and was still getting used to it. Tom blinked, and turned completely to his side to face her. Their bodies lined up parallel to each other, a good foot or two between them.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.” He replied, with a small, cautious smile.

Billie looked away, down at her hands which were folded together near her chest. She had the blankets tucked up against her, but realization hit Tom that she was naked underneath that. He’d put her in bed wearing only a towel wrapped around her, and now he could see the towel lying toward the foot of the bed.

Tom shifted and felt guilt rise in him.

“Are you alright? How do you feel?” He asked gently. Billie nodded.

“I’ve been better.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you…saw me like that, and you had to take care of me. I’m…” She trailed off, unable to meet his eyes. Tom reached forward, moving slowly, and took her hands in his.

“You scared the shit out of me, you know.” He swallowed hard. Billie slipped her fingers through his and then brought his hand up to her face. She kissed his knuckles and let out a small, shaky sob against him.

“I scared myself too. I’m so-sorry.” She managed. Tom slid across the space between them.

Billie let him hold her, let him wrap his arms around her. She curled against him, still under the covers. Tom ran a hand down her shoulder, over her arm, and then up to wrap around the side of her neck. He slipped his hands into her hair, stroking her gently. Billie relaxed in his arms, breathing slowly. One hand was pressed between them, another rested at his waist, warm against the bare skin where his shirt had ridden up.

Tom fought the urge to kiss her. Fought the urge to just pull her underneath him, and make her his again. It was the most base of all feelings. An easy, if not permanent fix, to everything. He knew it wouldn’t truly help anything but he also knew how easy it would be, to bury himself in her and make them both forget their names. He knew just the things to do to make her putty in his hands, help her forget. But he couldn’t do that. Not now.

This wasn’t about him. What he wanted, his needs. He was here to take care of her. Make sure she was alright. He was here for her—not for his own agenda. He had one goal, and one goal only.

“What are you doing here?” She lifted her face, her eyes searching. Tom pressed his lips together.

“Your sister was worried to death, Billie. No one could get ahold of you. So, she sent me to come see if you were alright.” He said quickly. Billie paused, blinked and then nodded.

“Oh, I see.” She was quiet, obviously still tired. Tom took a deep breath. He pulled away, gently and tugged his phone from his pocket.

“You should call her. She’ll want to hear from you, you know.” He held out the phone. Billie nodded, reached up and brushed at her eyes with a sniffle before pushing her hair from her face. It was a riot of curls, messy from going to sleep with her hair wet. Tom clenched his fist for a second, pushing away the urge to run a hand through the waves.

“Okay. Thank you. Could you give me a minute?” Billie asked gently, and Tom nodded. He got out of bed, feeling stiffness in his muscles still, and then slipped from the bedroom. He hesitated outside the door, waiting for a just a moment.

“Hi, Rach.” Billie started crying immediately. Her cries with soft, almost light in the sadness, and she let herself sob freely. He knew the feeling. The feeling of letting go, after finally talking to someone who knew you at your best, and your worst. He tensed, leaning back against the hallway wall, closing his eyes as he listened to the one side of the conversation.

“Yeah, I’m okay, I’m fine. I’m so sorry, Rach. I really am.” She cried.

“I just…I couldn’t…” Billie sobbed. “I’m so alone, Rach.” There was a pause. “I was so alone and I just didn’t…care anymore. I just didn’t want to feel…” Her words were muffled, slurred slightly.

Tom felt something rise in his chest, and his throat tighten. He let his head fall back against the wall, and he reached up, covering his mouth with his hand, holding in his own sob.

“Why did you…send him? How could you send him, Rachel? How could you send him here? How could you do that to me?” She wasn’t yelling, she was soft, defeated and broken. Billie was crying hard, and there was the muffled thump of a fist coming down on blankets and bedding.

Tom turned then, his whole body tense. He shook his head, tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he rubbed a rough hand over his face. He heard her cries, and quickly made his way down the hall, away from the bedroom. Away from her. He needed to take walk. Or perhaps a very long run. It didn’t matter. He needed to get out of this house.


	28. 27: warm tea, clean, a meal

When I wake up, my bedroom is dark and nearly eerie in the silence. I can’t remember the last time it was this quiet here. The shades have been pulled closed, though I can see the low, late afternoon sun burning gold around the edges of the window.

I sit up, immediately regret it, and lie back down. My head throbs, like the dull, low thud of a base drum. My body aches—the sort of ache that comes after being terribly sick, or in my case, extremely intoxicated.

I close my eyes, the silence settling into my bones and muscles. I imagine beaches with white sand. Flat, glass like water in cerulean blue and turquoise. Neverending cloudless skies. All the things that yoga teachers, therapists, relaxation specialists, have tried to tell me will send me to a place of soft, mindless, thoughtless bliss. I try to imagine being boneless, melting into the bed.

Sometimes it works, sometimes not. This is one of those not times.

I open my eyes again, slower this time, as I roll to my side. In the din, I can make out a mug on my nightstand. I reach forward and wrap my hand tentatively around it. It is still warm to the touch. I lift my head enough to tilt the mug to my lips and am rewarded with warm tea. Not hot enough to be truly good, but not completely lost. And in my state, it is more than enough. The sweetness floods my parched mouth, and it’s like nectar from the gods. I take a mouthful and let it sit for a second, before swallowing, feeling the liquid coat my empty stomach.

Tom is here. Tom is still here. The tea was definitely an act of a thoughtful British man who thinks and plans ahead. I’m relieved I didn’t hallucinate that.   I had thought at first, that I had. It wouldn’t be the first time I had gotten so drunk, and had conversations with imaginary people. Dreams can be an intensely disorienting thing. But no, when I woke up for the first time, however long ago, he was here. And the warm tea is an indication that he’s not far away still.

I had studied him in the early gray blue light of the morning. The arch of his brow, the slope of his strong nose. The dip under his cheekbones, and the few days worth of stubble on his angular face. A face I had studied before, in the mellow, fuzzy afterglow of sex, memorizing the planes. In the cool blue shadows of my room, he is the same and yet somehow different.

My conversation with my sister had been short. Short and painful. She’d been angry with me, sad, disappointed and mostly worried. I’d been angry as well, though mostly with myself. The small amount of emotion I had left in me, was directed at her—frustration that she’d sent him, of all people. The one person that I didn’t want to see me at my lowest, and here he was. Riding in on his white horse, picking up the pieces, trying to put humpty dumpty back together. Again. I had yelled at her, in the heat of the moment, blamed her for things that were not her fault. Said things I didn’t mean. All because she’d sent the one person I truly wanted, but was too weak to ask for.

Flashbacks to the last few nights—like watery, blurred snapshots, filtering through my mind. Partying with the twins, Yvonne and Sharon. It was their idea after news of Shorty had broken. They said we needed to celebrate my new found “freedom”, and yet I felt more confined than ever. They’d invited over friends. A lot of “friends”. The party had pretty quickly spiraled out of control. It lasted longer than one night, too. People would come and go, and the party would ebb and flow. And I stayed perfectly out of reach the entire time. Drunk enough not to care, not to feel, not to think.

I climb out of bed, slowly. If my legs give out on me, I want to make the least amount of noise possible. I’m not surprised to find that I’m nearly naked. I remember the shower from the other night. More like a dousing in hot water. I’m thankful for it, thankful I was somewhat clean, but the thought of it makes my stomach churn with embarrassment. He was doing what he had to. Trying to help me. And I was a complete wreck.

I long for a hot shower, scalding, in fact. I stumble into the bathroom, flipping on the light as I do.

My reflection is shocking. Harrowing. The bruise on my cheekbone is still there, strange tones of plum and greenish yellow. I’m nude except for my underwear. There are bruises on my outer thighs, where I no doubtedly stumbled drunkenly into things. Dark circles under my eyes seem to complete the look, along with hair that has seen better days.

I flick the lights off, sending the bathroom into forgiving darkness, and I turn on the shower as hot as it will go.

 

 ****

 

The shower doesn’t fix everything, but I at least am starting to feel human again. I brush my hair, and slip into clean clothes. Something comfortable, if not all that fashionable. Sweats and a hoodie that I’ve had for years. I hear Shorty’s voice in my head, telling me I need to get back into the “scene”. That I need to start dressing like a successful popstar if I want to be one.   Just the fact that I still hear him, directing my every move, makes me angry. It is hard to remove his presence completely. I’ve been used to it for years and years.

I’m scared to leave my bedroom. Scared to see what I will find.

I slip from my room quietly, my stomach churning. The house is nearly silent, but I can hear movement in the kitchen. I make my way downstairs, and hold my breath as I walk around the foyer into the main living area. The last thing I remember is one of the twins doing body shots, and a trio of guys trying to convince some girls I didn’t even know to play beer pong on kitchen counter.

I can’t imagine what Tom is thinking. I feel a heaviness in the pit of my stomach as I walk through the rooms.

It is immaculately clean. No sign of trash. No sign of parties. It’s welcoming even. Or as welcoming as my house can be. I’ve never quite fully moved in. Never quite made it my own. But there’s a few candles burning on the mantel, and around the living room. It smells good, warm and clean. I look around, wrapping my arms around my middle. He’s cleaned everything up. Everything.

My heart is hammering in my chest as I walk into the kitchen. Tom’s back is to me, and he’s standing at the stove. He’s wearing a plain white tshirt and jeans, his head lowered over something he’s stirring. He hasn’t heard me come downstairs. There’s a comforting calm to him. A quietness. I feel as if I’ve walked into a snapshot of what it could have been like between us. If things had been different. If he’d felt the same about me.

“Hi.” My voice is low, rough from disuse and being ill. Tom turns quickly, and the sight of his face makes my whole body tense. He raises an eyebrow, his eyes wide and open, forgiving and gentle. He gives me a careful smile and leans back against the counter next to the stove.

“Hello.” He says softly. I swallow. “How are you?” A simple question, but one I haven’t really been asked by anyone in person since I found out about Shorty. It catches me by surprise, and I don’t quite know how to answer at first.

“I’m okay.” I give him the simplest answer for the most complicated question. He waits. “I’m not okay.” I amend my answer. He grimaces and nods, accepting this.

“Um, thank you. You didn’t have to clean…It looks so nice in here.” I manage. It’s dark outside now, I notice as I glance out the window over his shoulder. Tom shrugs a shoulder and then tucks his hands into his pockets.

“I had some time. Are you hungry?” He asks, and walks over and pulls out one of the three chairs that sit at the large island in the middle of the kitchen. I hesitate for a second, watching him, but then I move forward, and sit down in the high bar chair.

“I’m starving.” I say softly. “I don’t know when I last ate.” I add. I feel nervous, and at the same time, comforted by his presence. He shouldn’t be here. I’m embarrassed he saw me like he did, and I’m mortified that he showed up after our last conversation was less than pleasant. But regardless, he’s here. And I can’t help but take comfort from that fact.

“I made chicken noodle soup. And do you want a cheese toastie?” He turns back around and starts pulling dishes from my cabinets like he lives here. I blink, watching him.

“You made soup? Like from a can? Campbells?” I ask. He turns around and raises an eyebrow, giving me a stern look.

“No darling, never a can.” He smiles then, the first real smile he’s given me, and I feel something cold and icy in the room melt away. I smile back, my shoulders sagging slightly.

“You made chicken noodle from scratch?” I ask, not able to keep the amusement from my voice. The amusement and adoration. I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop.

“And what’s a cheese toastie?”

Another stern look. I laugh, a soft, tentative noise.

“I went for a run this morning, and I found a rather alarming amount of specialty grocery stores. So, I picked up a few things on my way back.” He turns back from the stove, and sets a steaming bowl down in front of me. It smells heavenly, and looks just as good.

“And a cheese toastie is what you’d most likely call…grilled cheese.” He flips into a broad, emphasized American accent, and it makes me genuinely laugh.

“It’ll be just a moment.” He says easily, and pulls a spatula from the jar on the counter, flipping it nonchalantly in his hands. I can’t do anything really, but watch him for a second. Watch him standing here in my kitchen, as if it is nothing. As if he hasn’t done me the biggest favor anyone has ever done. I feel my heart skip, thud, and possibly stutter to a stop.

“Where did you learn to cook, Tom?” I ask, and I look down at my soup, picking up my spoon.

“My mum. She’s fantastic. We spent a lot of time cooking together. Well, we spent a lot of time together in general. She’s an incredible woman.” He says, and his voice has a hint of sadness to it. I look up, and he gives me a small smile. We’ve never talked much about his family.

“You don’t get to see her often, I’m guessing?” I ask.

“No. Not since I moved here, actually. My dad died about six months before I met Becca. I’m hoping I can get Gems there soon. Someday. Mum’s not getting any younger...” He says with a short, sad laugh and then turns and busies himself at the stove. I let this sink in for a moment. Timing can be a damning thing. He lost his father right before he met Becca.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I know what it’s like to lose a parent. Or both parents.” I say gently. He turns back around then and his eyes are warm and understanding.

“I’m sorry, too, Billie. It’s never easy.” He clears his throat. “But we had some great years together.” He plates a sandwich, cuts it diagonally into triangles, and places it in front of me. I smile at him, and hold up one of the quarters, trying not to laugh.

“Gemma would approve.” I tease. He grins and shrugs.

“Force of habit. I suppose adults like their sandwiches simply cut in half.” He says goodnaturedly. I shrug and take a bite, the sandwich is delicious—hot, buttery and cheesey.

“Oh…mmm.” I hum softly. Tom goes to the fridge, pulls a bottle out, and a second later I hear a telltale fizzing pop. Soda.

“How’s the soup?” He asks, and puts a glass of coke down in front of me. I stare at him, eyes wide. He leans against the island, then reaches forward and snatches a triangle of sandwich off my plate. He munches for a second and then waits.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” I say after taking a few more bites. It is, too.

“You’re welcome.” He says, and then turns back to the stove and begins making another sandwich. We stay in silence for a few minutes. He makes sandwiches, and I eat. I feel ravenous suddenly, and every bite is more delicious than the last. He puts another sandwich down in front of me, and I don’t resist nor do I complain.

“Are you going to eat with me?” I ask, between bites. He nods, and dishes himself a bowl of soup. He stands at the island, in front of me, eating while we chat. It feels casual. Intimate. And if I weren’t so hungry, it would be hard not to focus on just how badly I have wanted this moment. The amount of times I’ve imagined this exact interaction. Only, under different circumstances.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten down the perfect butter to cheese ratio on these. What do you think?” He asks, as he crunches into a sandwich. I smile, sitting back.

“I have no complaints.”

“Well, Gemma says they’re rubbish. She only likes when Rosie makes them, which means extra cheese, dry toast.” He sighs, looking as if he’s been offended. I laugh softly, and take a deep breath.

“How is Gemma?” I ask, my heart squeezing at the thought of her. He stops smiling then, and looks thoughtful, hesitant. Tom leans back, and crosses his arms over his broad chest. The muscles flex in his biceps, and with the kitchen lights shining down on him as they are, he looks almost god like.

“She’s doing good. She’s had a tough few weeks, but she’s a trooper.” He smiles, and I fight every urge to push for details. But she’s not mine. And the information is not something I’m necessarily privy too anymore. If I were to ask, and he declined the information, I don’t know that I could stand it.

“I’m sorry how I left.” The words come out, and surprise even me. He looks away from me for a second, and nods.

“You had to do what you thought was right.” He tilts his head down toward the floor, and clears his throat. He doesn’t look back up. I lick my lips.

“How’s Becca?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral. It shakes.

Tom looks up, startled. “Becca.” He says sternly. I nod. “She’s gone, Billie.”

I feel my face flush. Emotions swirl through me.

“Did she leave? Or…did you…” I can’t ask. I force myself to look at him. He keeps my gaze and takes a long, deep breath.

“I told her to leave. She has no place there with us. I was…really confused, and shell shocked when she showed up. I should never have let her stay in the first place. So I asked her to leave. It’s not healthy for Gems. Not now, at least. If Gemma wants to know her when she’s older, I’ll always give her that option.” He clenches his jaw, and reaches forward, clearing my empty plate and bowl for me.

“More?” He lifts the bowl slightly and I shake my head. I suddenly feel heavy all over, exhausted, full and ready for real sleep. He seems to read it in me, and Tom places the dishes in the sink.

“You should get some rest, Billie.” He says gently, softly.

“I just slept all day.” I reply, wanting to be obstinate for no reason in particular. Especially since I can feel myself fading fast. The food has sent my body into sleep mode. Restoration mode. Something I desperately need.

“Right, but you’re in no state.” He runs a hand through his hair and gives me a stern look.

“Are you…” I pause, think hard about what I’m about to say. “Are you leaving soon?” I ask. Tom’s blue eyes follow me, as I slip off the chair.

“I’m leaving tomorrow evening. I’ve got to be back for work on Monday. And Gemma has a field trip on Tuesday I’m chaperoning.” He says softly. Real life.

“Will you come upstairs with me? I just don’t want to be alone.” I ask. I have to ask. He’s here, now, and I can’t let that slip through my fingers. Even if it means just lying next to him in the dark for a few hours.

Tom swallows, and bows his head slightly. He doesn’t respond, but he leads the way, slipping a gentle, warm hand around mine as he directs me toward the stairs.


	29. 28: the truth, billie darling, family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello there! Thank you for waiting for so long for this to be completed. Writer's block and lack of time strike again!! I appreciate all the support I've gotten on Darling. And I hope you like how it is all wrapped up! Thanks again for so many of you who have stuck with me from the start! Right now, I'm also working on my first original romance, called The Worst Part. Please! Go check it out! 
> 
> Also, if you liked my story Crumbs, if you wouldn't mind voting for it in Wattpad's Story of the Year contest, I'd be eternally grateful. Link: w.tt/StoryoftheYear 
> 
> Thanks again, friends! (Also, I'm on twitter as GermyRunner, so please add me there!)
> 
> Here we go....

The night was quiet. Timid, even. The thin, twisted thread that had kept Tom and Billie bound for months, had been haphazardly tied back together. Tom watched Billie as she climbed back into her huge bed, curling up under the covers and onto her side. With one, quiet look from her, he moved to join her. He kicked off his trainers, and pulled his shirt over his head, aware the whole time that she was watching him quietly in the dark

Tom slid into bed next to her, the sheets cool on his skin, careful to leave space between them. This was about her. About what she needed, and what was best for her. It wasn't about him, or his needs and desires. And he had to make sure it stayed that way. From the start, Billie had only ever thought of him. He had to return the favor, when she needed him most.

It didn't take long for Billie to close the gap between them. Tom felt her hand slide up against his chest. He opened his eyes in the darkness to see her face, not far from his. His skin reacted to her touch, his muscles tensed slightly. Billie brushed her fingertips against his jaw. Tom felt her thumb, small and soft, press against his cheek, skin to skin. A touch he'd thought about often, and often wondered if he'd never feel again.

He'd be an idiot if he tried to deny his feelings. The way his heart felt fully alive for the first time since this woman had shown up in his life-- like some siren in the waves. He'd been so stuck on Becca. So scared to disrupt the balance he'd made in his life. All he had wanted, for the longest time, was to give Gemma stability. All he had wanted for himself...he couldn't remember the last time he'd thought about that.

Billie had happened and she'd taken him by surprise. She'd forced him to think about himself. What he wanted. Reminded him that he was a man. And he still had many years ahead of him-- years that could be filled with quiet solitude, or....or something quite different. She reminded him that one day, in the not too distant future, Gemma would grow up, and move on with her own life. And Tom. Tom would be left, just as he'd started. Alone.

Billie was everything he'd ever dared to dream about, and yet there were things that hadn't quite fallen into place. And he'd been unable to get over those obstacles. He'd been blinded by the small things, and had ignored the fact that he'd fallen in love. Truly in love.

Tom took a deep breath then, feeling her hand resting against his cheek and neck. His breath was stilted, and he felt the slight loss of control start in his stomach and move out to his fingertips. He reached up, taking her hand in his, squeezing as he pressed her palm to his mouth.

He felt Billie shift, her fingers curl toward his face as he kissed her palm, and then slowly, each of her fingers.

"Tom." She whispered into the dark. His name on her lips. A sound he never wanted to forget, or live a day without.

"Yes?" His voice came out hoarse, a brief noise in the quiet. Tom held onto her hand, pressing it between his two larger ones.

"Seeing you...with Becca, I..." Her voice broke. Tom felt his chest tighten, and he began to speak, shaking his head.

"No, please." Billie interrupted, her fingers coming to his lips, stopping him. Tom stopped, letting her speak. He had to let her speak. He needed to know what was going on with her. Just a glimpse into her mind, would help him know what to do, where to go.

"I won't take back what I said." Billie started, softly. Tom could see her face now, his eyes adjusted to the dark. Her eyes were bright, intelligent and full of emotion. He clung to her words.

"It broke my heart to see you with Becca." She kept going. Her words like daggers. "But I wanted you to be happy, I did. _I do._ I wanted Gemma to have her mother, even if it meant..." Billie took a long pause, and Tom could see her chin, shaking slightly with bottled emotion. He squeezed her hand again, pulling it between them and pressing it against his chest. Against his heart.

"Thank you for coming. Even if it was just because my sister asked you to. You've been a great friend to me. A better friend than...than I've had for a long, long time." She opened her hand, pressing her flat palm and fingers against Tom's bare chest. Tom skimmed his hand down her arm. The things that Shorty had done to her hung in the air between them, but they didn't bring him up. He was the past. They needed the future.

"I'm sorry you had to see Becca. I should never have let her stay." Tom replied softly. "Billie, I..." He couldn't stop if he started, and he knew this. But Billie deserved the truth, even if it was too late.

"I came here because I wanted to. Not because of Rachel, or Sam, or anything else. I came here for you. Because I was worried sick over you. I love you, Billie. And I was an idiot to make you think otherwise." Tom reached over, taking Billie's face between his hands, softly, gently.

"You changed my life. You changed Gemma's life. I made up all these reasons why I couldn't have you in my life because...I was so afraid of losing you. I was so afraid of being left. But, I'm here for you, and only for you. I want you to know that...I know you're confused right now, and hurting because of everything that's happened. I just want you to know I'll be here, for you, no matter what."

Time stood still for a long, long moment. Tom could barely breathe, and couldn't read her reaction. If she took him back, it would be a miracle and one he didn't think he deserved. He still wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. To dump all of this on her, when what she really needed was just someone to be on her side.

Billie took a slow, shaky breath, and Tom realized she was crying.

"Billie, darling." His voice barely audible. "My whole world is hanging on you, I hope you know."

"Tom..." She said softly, through tears. "I love you, too." Her words fell like water in a parched desert. "I fell in love with you the moment I saw you...and puked on your shoes." She said with a soft laugh. He felt it to his guts, straight through his body. "I fell in love with Gemma too. She's just a ray of light. She's everything." She added.

Tom gathered Billie to him, closing the space between them. Billie wrapped her arms around him, feeling her whole being sigh as they kissed. It was as if they couldn't get close enough, couldn't find a way to make up for all the time spent apart.

 

** 6 Months Later **

"Gemma, keep up, little rhino!" Tom shouted back to his daughter as they made their way through winding hallways.

"I got little legs, Dad." Gemma said, her voice huffy and annoyed. Honestly, he was surprised she was still awake. A four hour car ride, where she hadn't slept a wink, plus an entire afternoon of sight seeing and now a Broadway show that had gone well past her bedtime.

"Want me to carry you?" Tom asked, slowing down for his daughter.

"No, _Dad_." Gemma grumped, crossing her arms over her chest in tiny, six year old indignance.

"Right. Come on, then." He sighed with a smile as he reached down and scooped her up. Gemma squealed and smacked him playfully, giggling despite her mock annoyance. He swung her around for a second, before setting her down and turning his back so she could climb on. Gemma did so without complaining, clinging to his back like a little monkey. She was content though, and she happily clutched her arms around her father's neck, choking him slightly.

"What room is she in?" Rosie asked, patting Gemma lightly on the back. Tom swung around, making sure the rest of the group had caught up. Rach took a bit longer to get around these days. Thankfully, they'd had special box seats during the show, so it had been easy for her to get up and use the bathroom three or four times without bothering anyone else.

Sam walked slowly with Rachel, who was waddling more than walking. But she was in good spirits, and had the unmistakable pregnancy glow about her. It hadn't been the easiest pregnancy, but it had still been a very happy one.

"Rach, you alright?" Tom asked, and Rachel smiled at him.

"Never been better." She waved a hand as Sam smiled on.

"Though she be but little, she is fierce!" Sam winked at Tom.

"Shut up, I'm a boat!" Rachel smacked at Sam, who was laughing loudly now. Tom grinned, shaking his head as he turned back around.

"It's right down here!" Rosie said, making sure to check room numbers as they walked the crowded, bustling hallway.

Tom handed a bunch of wildflowers up to Gemma, freeing his hands to hold onto her. Gemma swung them around happily, hitting him in the head a few times before Tom had to growl jokingly at her to stop.

"BILLIE!" Gemma screeched at the top of her lungs, as a door toward the end of the hall swung open. Tom cringed, sure he'd just lost some hearing in his left ear. She began wiggling, in a desperate attempt to get down off of Tom's back. He laughed and set her down, before he dropped her, and she went off like a ricochet, charging down the hall. His little rhino, indeed.

Billie was beaming. She still had on her stage makeup, but she'd changed into regular clothes. Gemma crashed into her, and Billie scooped her up, hugging her tightly. Her eyes stayed on Tom though, unable to leave him. They were full of emotion.

"Oh, my girl." Billie said, pressing kisses to Gemma's unruly hair. Gemma giggled, burying her face in Billie's neck, happy to see her. It had been over a week. Tom smiled, feeling his chest tighten. Rosie barrelled past Tom, nearly pushing him out of the way to get to Billie.

"BIllie, love, you were wonderful! Oh, you took my breath away!" Rosie gushed, as Billie set Gemma down and hugged Rosie.

"Oh, thank you, Rosie. You're so sweet." Billie laughed, kissing Rosie on the cheek. Gemma reached up, thumping Billie gently on the hip with the bouquet of flowers.

"These are for you, Billie. For all the dancing and singing you did. I wasn't even bored at all." Gemma grinned and thrust them toward Billie, who was trying hard not to laugh.

"Those are beautiful, Gemma. Thank you."

"Well, sis. You did it. I didn't think you had it in you, but you proved everyone wrong." Rachel said, finally making her way to the group. Billie rolled her eyes, her smile somehow getting bigger."

"Shut up." She laughed.

"Seriously though. You were brilliant. And beautiful. And...just...oh..." Rachel said, her eyes welling as she did her best to hug her sister over her rather enormous baby bump. Sam grinned, shaking his head. They were all used to Rachel's emotional rollercoaster by now.

"Nice job, Bee." Sam hugged Billie, and then went to comfort his happily sobbing wife. Billie straightened up then, smiling broadly as she found herself with Tom, finally.

He pulled her to him, and then kissed her thoroughly, not caring that he would most likely come away with lipstick all over his face. He was so proud of her, and so happy for the woman he loved.

"You were fantastic, my love. Really. I couldn't take my eyes off of you. But that's normal, so..." He kissed her ear, and then squeezed her tighter. Billie pressed her face against his neck, breathing in the scent of him.

It hadn't been easy. In fact, it had been grueling, torturous at times. But it had been worth it. So worth it.

Billie had moved back to Delaware, a week after Tom had left California. She'd been happy there, falling easily back into her routine with Tom and Gemma.

But they had known. They had all known that singing was in her blood. It was a part of her. Something she had worked so hard for her whole life, and despite being set back by Shorty's greed, she still thought about it.

A month after moving back, she'd gotten an offer. An offer to play a title role in a Broadway musical. She'd be hesitant to take it. Her thoughts only on Tom, and Gemma and the family they'd been slowly trying to rebuild. But Tom had been adamant that she consider it. It was the sort of project that seemed perfect for her. A role for Billie Darling, not Baby.

So she'd accepted. Because she knew it was the right thing. She spent months in New York, and Tom and Gemma traveled back and forth between Delaware and the city. It hadn't been easy, but good things never were. Billie's contract was only for three months, and then they would go from there.

And Tom knew, it was what Billie needed now, to help her move on from Baby. And he was willing to take the four hour trip to see her, whenever possible. It was a lot easier too, now that he wasn't working two jobs. He worked part time, teaching one or two classes a semester at the college, but he'd quit the bar. He really didn't need to work at all, but he loved teaching.

Billie had paid off all of Becca's debts. Debts that had been hoisted onto Tom. They'd argued over it, spent a few nights barely speaking because of it, but in the end, Tom knew that Billie had the money. And he knew that it would help Gemma in the long run. He could be around so much more, always there to take her to school, pick her up and be with her in the evenings. And Billie had wanted nothing more than to use her money to something good. To help someone she loved.

"Thank you. Thank you for this." Billie whispered to Tom, feeling her eyes burn with tears. He grinned, then leaned down and kissed her, gently.

"I didn't do anything. It was all you, Billie. It's always been you." He said, brushing his lips against hers.

****

The next morning, the birds were chirping and the sky was the most brilliant, cloudless blue. Tom was lying on his back, eyes to the sky, Billie curled next to him. A rare day off for Billie, so they were taking their time, enjoying a picnic in Central Park.

Gemma was nearby, chatting with Rosie, Sam and Rachel on a blanket. Tom rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his hand, taking in the sight of Billie. Her white blond hair spread across the blanket, the morning breeze ruffling it slightly. She had her eyes closed, but there was a smile on her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked happy, and at peace.

"What are you thinking about?" Tom whispered, leaning down and brushing his lips across hers. He could see their family in his peripheral, but noticed they'd been giving him and Billie some privacy that morning. Their time together was short, as always.

"You." She breathed, her smile widening.

"Oh?" Tom traced a finger down her nose and lips, her chin and throat, and then across her collarbones, watching her breathing get a bit faster. It reminded him of last night, doing the same things, but in bed and with far less clothes on. And far less people around.

"Yes. I love you. So much." She opened her eyes, and he watched as she searched his face. Tom tilted his head down, and gave her a small, half smile.

"I'm so proud of you Billie. You know that, right?" He asked, his eyes serious. She nodded. "I know it hasn't been easy for you, but you...always took the high road." He took her hand in his, squeezing gently.

"Thank you for understanding what I needed to do. For supporting me here. It hasn't been all that easy for you either." She reached up, and traced a hand over his cheek and jaw.

"I love you. We could lose it all, and if I had you and Gems, it would still be heaven on earth." He whispered softly, leaning down and resting his head against hers. Billie laughed softly, feeling a tear slip from her eye, and slide down her temple into her hair.

"Marry me, Billie? You know you're everything to me. Please be mine. Put this poor, lonely chap out of his misery." He laughed, softly, his expression soft and full of love. Billie sat up then, and wrapped her arms tight around his neck, crying softly. His words had been a surprise, but she'd been waiting for them.

"Yes, yes, yes. Forever, yes." She laughed, as she felt Tom slip a ring onto her finger. Tom kissed her then, through her tears, and held her close.

"She said Yes!" Tom shouted, over his shoulder toward their family, who were eavesdropping rather obviously. A round of cheers went up, and they both laughed, happy and unable to hide their joy.

A moment later, a tiny body dove over them, colliding into Billie and Tom. Gemma laughed, snuggling up to them as they both giggled, pulling her into an embrace.

"Billie said 'Yes!' You're going to marry my daddy!" Gemma squeezed Billie with surprising strength for someone so small, and then kissed Tom twice on the cheek.

"This is the best day ever. What could be better?!" Gemma sighed, staring up with unfettered happiness. Billie smiled, reached over and pressed her face against Tom's neck, and then whispered softly, into his ear.

"I'm pregnant." 

 


End file.
